A Beast's Virtue
by Arliene
Summary: Magic dictates that there is no darkness without a counterpart. Unwilling to let the wizarding world succumb to Voldemort, Harry Potter takes it upon himself to change the status quo from within, threatening the Dark Lord's position. But there's more to Tom Riddle than meets the eye. And both of them might learn more from each other than they want to. HP/LV. Leader/Politician Harry
1. A New World

**DISCLAIMER:** The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

**Note: This is a HP/LV fic. The slash part won't happen until much later, though. **The story will primarily focus on** adventure/suspense **and what it means to be a lord and leader of a group. There will be no mpreg or creature inheritance stuff, no godlike powers, countless pets etc. As for the timeline issue. Everything up until Harry's introduction to the wizarding world happened in this fic as well, meaning prophecies, Horcruxes, Grindeldore and all that jazz.

**HP/LV dynamic**: For those of you who are interested, I'm gonna explore HP/LV as _equals_. Harry will definitely grow up to be unique in his own right, magically capable to stand his ground, although there will be major differences between him and Voldemort in terms of ideals, morals and what they envision for the future of the wizarding world. Harry will like both the dark and the light side, so no old-fashioned Dark Lordish tendencies for him. Still, there will be people pressuring him constantly.

I spoiled everything already haha :D

I hope you enjoy it :) Btw, And it's not gonna be a short story. Just a warning.

I apologize for my poor grammar/spelling mistakes. No beta means trouble for me.

* * *

**Chapter 1: A New World**

Heavy Footsteps echoed off the pavement as a young boy ran across the street in the middle of the night. If a curious onlooker had bothered to take a closer look, they would have encounter a strange sight.

Strange, because the community of Little Whining usually took pride in normalcy, peace and all the things "normal" people desired. They never brought attention to themselves unless they wanted to be seen and talked about.

Harry James Potter would've preferred that option as well.

With nothing but his cousin's old clothes on his body, the young boy pelted across Magnolia Road, leaving behind a desolate and pitiful looking playground.

He was a bit concerned about people possibly tracking him or having witnessed his abrupt departure. But those problems could be sorted out later. Admittedly, it was somewhat strange for a 10 years old boy to be alone at such an hour.

He was gasping for air and a sharp pain in his side made it difficult to keep going. Harry glanced up briefly and wondered whether that old, doddering woman Mrs. Figg would follow him.

It used to be a strange hobby of hers. Watching him.

She had always kept an eye on him for some reason or another and it bothered him to this day that he hadn't figured out why. Harry couldn't dwell on the past, though, as he resolutely made his way towards freedom.

He eventually slowed down a bit when he reached the station.

Finally.

The bespectacled boy made sure again that no one was following him, before making his way over to the platform. Not many people would be out at this time, and apparently, the only people waiting to catch the next train were a bunch of rowdy teenagers. Harry glanced warily at the spot where he could see them laughing and shoving each other playfully.

'Must be drunk,' Harry thought, taking in the group of 5 or so people. He glanced around and noticed that no one else was there.

He tried not to think about the fact that he'd have no one to take care of him from now on. It didn't really help that he had absolutely no idea what to do with himself, and while he was certain that the Dursleys wouldn't report him to the authorities, it was too risky contacting any child services for that matter.

'I didn't really think this through, did I?' Harry carded his fingers nervously through black, messy hair, absently noticing that one of the girls from the group was slowly making her way over to him. The others either didn't notice or didn't seem to care much.

He really wasn't in the mood for a chat with strangers, but apparently the girl wasn't deterred at all, stumbling towards him.

"And what is a little boy like you doing here all by himself?" She grinned and Harry took in her appearance. Her make-up didn't really help covering red-rimmed eyes and dry lips. Her hair was lanky and as she got closer, Harry could smell what he guessed was Whiskey on her. His uncle Vernon used to smell like that whenever he'd been in a particularly bad mood. It was just as disgusting.

He didn't dignify her observation with a comment, instead turning away from her and checking his pockets, making sure that he'd had some money on him. The only foresight Harry has had for this disaster trip was to steal Dudley's lunch money earlier that day.

Harry was a thief but at least he was honest about it.

"Planning to escape, are you, Potter?" the girl asked again, surprising Harry for a moment.

"How do you know me?" He glanced at her, taking in the way she was biting her lips. She chuckled in response.

"I recognized you immediately. You're the boy little Dudley Dursley likes to torment at school. Always bragging about beating up the criminal from St Brutus," she trailed off. Harry rolled his eyes, tired of hearing about his aunt's cover story and all the crap that came with it. She used to tell the neighbors that he had gotten the necessary re-education, always coming up with an excuse not to let Harry out of the house too much, in case his "weirdness" and freak behavior would be displayed for all to see. Only during the summer breaks was he allowed to spend more time outside, mostly occupying himself with gardening.

It had been another step to isolate him, which is why he'd never made any friends in school.

Harry didn't like to admit it, much less to himself, but he felt lonely.

"You don't even look like you could harm a fly, though. It's quite obvious that your entire family is full of shit" the teenager exclaimed, eagerly observing Harry's reaction.

"Look, I'm tired. So why don't you go back to your friends," the boy glared, trying to cut her off.

"They can live without me," she paused. " But you on the other hand need my help." Satisfied with her logic, the drunk girl suddenly pulled out a wad of cash and without further ado, she reached for Harry and put it in his jacket pocket. "There, now you should be fine for at least a couple of days."

Harry couldn't quite stifle his reaction. "What the hell...?" He made a move to return the money, but the intoxicated girl grasped his wrist with surprising strength.

"Take it, Potter." She smiled enigmatically. "You need it more than I do, and I know exactly what it's like to run away from a family that doesn't give a shit."

"Hey, Amy. What are you doing?" someone shouted from the distance. Harry stared at her, not quite sure what to make of this bizarre statement. To be honest, he wasn't all that knowledgable about people and what they did in these situations. Any form of kindness was usually met with suspicion on his part simply because he didn't know better. And he didn't want to come across as someone's charity case.

In the end, he left it at that and simply nodded. The girl, Amy turned around and for a moment she looked surprisingly lucid.

"I have a feeling you'll do great," she explained. "Harry Potter, resident, criminal boy destined for greatness!" And with a cheerful goodbye and a last indecipherable look she returned back to her group of friends, leaving him confused and somewhat apprehensive.

Harry tried to shake off that weird feeling he sometimes got when something strange yet memorable happened.

* * *

The next train to Central London arrived, and Harry immediately went to look for a decent compartment. To his surprise, the drunk teenagers didn't board the train, choosing to simply leave the station for now. He tried not to think about the girl too much.

He took a seat somewhere in the back, ignoring the old man who was sitting nearby, snoring softly. His thoughts turned self-deprecating and Harry grimaced, thinking that no matter what happened from now on, it surely couldn't get worse than his previous home life. He made himself comfortable and contemplated what to do.

He had two options now. He could simply try finding an appropriate night shelter or live on the streets. Neither was preferable, but calling the police or getting himself checked into a hospital was not a risk he'd like to take. With a quick glance at a Vernon's old watch Harry has stolen earlier this day, he calculated the time before arrival. Harry hoped the Dursleys would be asleep.

Harry leaned back, his gaunt reflection in the window revealing just how exhausted and anxious he was. Shifting a bit, he nervously tapped his finger against the armrest. Tired, jade green eyes took in his surroundings.

Nothing caught his attention and he allowed himself to relax for a minute.

His instincts however were telling him that something was wrong.

The old man he'd seen earlier was calmly reading a book. Odd.

Hadn't he been asleep just moments ago?

Harry narrowed his eyes, taking in the harsh features more closely. His ridiculous looking but neatly trimmed goatee was just one peculiarity. The old man was wearing a silver coat, or maybe a...robe. And was that fur on his collar? In the middle of summer...?

His blue eyes were unfocused, unseeingly fixed on the pages. Which meant that the man was just as aware of his surroundings as the young boy was.

Harry had always made it his business to stay alert in case there was danger. Life at the Dursleys had been somewhat like living on egg-shells, focusing on whatever moment of peace you could get.

Trying not to stare too much, Harry fiddled with a loose thread of his jacket to distract himself. Harry checked his watch again and almost groaned. Only 5 minutes have passed since leaving Little Whinging.

He was about to look outside the window, when suddenly he felt the air shifting and static-like energy enveloping him like a cloak. Before he had time to process this feeling or make sense of it, a hand grabbed his neck harshly, pulling him forward. Harry gasped, struggling to get free, but he was helpless.

The odd looking man was standing right in front of him and without warning another hand brushed his dark bangs away from his forehead.

Steel-blue eyes were fixed on the spot above his eyebrow and Harry knew that his old, lighting-shaped scar was what appeared so interesting to the stranger.

"What the hell..." Harry struggled again, but the man shushed him, pulling him even closer.

A mad grin revealed yellow teeth and Harry flinched, averting his gaze. It didn't really help much, because the man was suddenly chucking delightedly, his stale breath almost making the younger boy gag.

"Oh, today is my lucky day," the man whispered with a strong accent, turning Harry's face a bit to inspect the scar from another angle.

"I was minding my own business, enjoying my stay here when suddenly I find myself confronted with a handful of Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived." The weirdo was positively gleeful at this point.

"So many choices, so many opportunities..." He let go of Harry's neck, rubbing his hands together. Harry reeled back in shock, looking around for help. But no one was there.

"Oh no, you can't escape this, boy. We'll go on a nice journey, you and I." Without further ado he made a grab for Harry's arm, roughly pulling him out of his position. With another move he grabbed a silver necklace that had been hidden under his robes. "I really didn't want to use this, but we can call it an emergency, I guess."

The batty, old man continued mumbling something, words like"Portkeys" and "Ministry issues" coming up, but Harry saw his chance and made another effort to get away.

A loud crash from somewhere else temporarily distracted both of them and now Harry could make out more than one voice. "Help-" he cried out, but the hand was back, covering his mouth. He was roughly pulled back against a tall, thin body.

"Did you hear that?" a male voice cut through the silence. Another crash, and someone was screaming.

"Oh for fucks sake, _Obliviate" _another person yelled. "Dung, you totally screwed up, you know that, right?" the voice addressed someone else.

"Nevermind, Potter's definitely here. The trace worked perfectly."

Footsteps were approaching their compartment, but before they could reach them, the old man whispered something in his ear.

"Of course, the great savior of the wizarding world needs his entourage, but I'm afraid it's too late for that." The hand quickly grabbed his smaller one and with a single touch to the object hanging from the necklace both people were transported away from their location. To Harry it felt like a pull somewhere behind his navel, but he didn't have much time to focus.

He had now officially been kidnapped. That was a first, even for him.

A group of people dressed in similar robes as the old man stumbled into the compartment, a moment too late.

* * *

The first thing Harry experienced was a sharp pain shooting through his back after landing ungracefully on a cold, muddy surface. The next thing he felt was panic.

His companion aka kidnapper didn't appear ruffled at all, merely shooting the young boy a disdainful look for a moment.

He tried to understand what just happened. It wasn't an everyday occurrence to be transported from one place to another, although Harry did remember that one time he suddenly appeared on his school's roof. Another event in a long list of strange ones.

Getting rid of the nausea and dizziness that had almost made him want to throw up on the man's shiny, black boots took enormous effort. Harry got up with some difficulties, though.

His head was pounding and he felt his heartbeat accelerate, thinking that whatever happened would end in murder. The old man decided to break the silence.

"You were followed."

Harry couldn't make sense of that statement, but played along. "If you're referring to your friends making a ruckus back there, you're probably right." He paused, catching his breath. "I don't know these guys and I don't know you, so what's to say you weren't following me as well?" Green eyes narrowed in suspicion, looking for signs that there was some conspiracy at work, something that would make more sense.

He got a smirk in response.

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't go looking around for the wizarding world's hero and those people following you are certainly not my...friends" the man sneered, making a move to leave.

"Wizarding world..." Harry mumbled, trying to calm down and forcing himself to think about this more rationally. He couldn't identify their current location, but it was definitely much colder. Going by the scent, he could detect that there was a river or possibly a lake nearby. The air was humid and they appeared to be in the middle of a forest. If that man planned to do something, there would be no one around to witness it.

The old man halted, throwing him another look and taking in Harry's clothes and general unkept appearance. Something in his expression told the boy that another mystery has been solved.

And then the man started to laugh.

"This is absolutely priceless", he broke out between gasps. "Too good to be true. Oh, if the public finds out about this..."

"You don't make any sense, so if you want to kill me or whatever just do it!" Harry interrupted forcefully, balling his fists and preparing himself. He was tired of being in the dark about everything.

"Kill you? Why would I do that?" The man suddenly grabbed his upper arm with surprising force and dragged him along.

"I don't know, alright. Let me go-" Harry's struggles were in vain. He stumbled across the pathway, stones and branches digging painfully into his sneakers.

"We will talk after crossing the wards, boy. We aren't safe yet and you never know who might overhear certain things," the older man explained.

"Will you at least bother to tell me your name?" Harry forced out, not wanting to lose what dignity he had left. This situation was ridiculous as is.

"Certainly," he got in response. The man grinned sharply, shooting him another look.

"Igor Karkaroff. To you it's Headmaster or sir," he added.

* * *

And with that they continued on their way, leaving the darkness of the forest. After a short walk which was spent in silence, they must have reached their destination. Harry looked up, about to demand another explanation when he caught sight of the building in front of him. His eyes widened in surprise.

It wasn't a building but a medieval castle with narrow windows and an archway. A huge court yard covered the whole area and there was also what looked to be a pitch nearby. Harry wasn't an expert on architecture, but he remembered reading a specific book about medieval buildings back when he'd managed to get away from his family. Which was a rare opportunity.

This castle looked similar to Rococo-themed castles around Europe, with the most notable difference being its dark structure. It was only four stories tall, however, looking similar to the Catherine Palace in Russia. Harry'd never imagined seeing a castle up close. Hell, he'd never gotten the opportunity to travel at all.

And by now he realized that they might not even be in Britain anymore. Which made the whole teleportation business all the more baffling.

As he reluctantly followed the headmaster, he felt an odd sensation encompassing him, like crossing a waterfall. This must be the barriers Karkaroff had mentioned earlier.

And slowly but surely it was settling in that whatever was happening here was just another case of "freakishness". The kind of stuff that Harry had been accused of all his life. It somehow made it easier for him to deal with, considering the fact that he had personal experience. The forbidden word magic came to mind and with that his thoughts turned to all the different signs indicating that there was something beyond the ordinary life of people like his family. The fact that the man had been dressed in robes, or that another bunch of "wizards" had followed him for a while, shouting out obscure words like "Obliviate"...

It was too much to take in, but also easier to accept. There was an explanation for his sudden appearance in the middle of nowhere, just like there was one for getting his hair to grow rapidly after one night, or depositing himself on a roof. Things like releasing a snake on his cousin at the zoo. Or healing himself.

Harry glanced at the man who was now waving his hand absently, opening the main entrance with a bang. That confirmed Harry's suspicions, seeing for the first time how "magic" worked with intent.

They quickly entered the castle and it was now that he fully understood the gravity of the situation. Less than 24 hours ago he'd been worried where he would sleep and how much money the girl had given him and now his life was truly about to change. He didn't know whether to feel excitement or dread.

Karkaroff let go off him and quickly approached the staircases. Harry had no other choice but to follow, seeing as how the doors behind him had closed. He doubted he could make a successful escape.

No one else was there. Harry glanced around and noticed movement within the portraits hanging on the wall. People dressed in similar fashion were inspecting him, some of them sneering in disgust and murmuring what sounded like "Mudblood" and some Scandinavian words to him. Harry quickly looked down. He knew that even for a normal person, he looked completely out of place with his poor excuse of an outfit. His clothes were Dudley's and nothing he owned had ever truly belonged to him.

"Do hurry up, Potter", the wizard intoned, and Harry sped up his steps. They reached a poorly lit corridor and the headmaster approached the end of it, briskly opening the oak door with magic. Harry glanced around warily before entering an office.

The strange instruments littering the place immediately showed that no non-magical person worked here. Bookcases filled with ancient tomes indicated that the old headmaster liked to read or at least wanted to project the image of a scholar.

For some reason Harry didn't think the man was all that smart, though.

The man pulled a bottle out of a huge glass cabinet and poured himself a drink, downing it in one go before taking a seat behind the wooden desk.

"Take a seat," he offered, watching the boy with expressionless eyes. Harry tried to ignore the penetrating stare, secretly pleased that there were no portraits in this office. He'd had enough with just one man sneering at him. He didn't need more.

The instrument closest to the bookcase gave off a strange sound, but the old man didn't even bat an eyelash. Harry wondered whether this thing was some kind of alarm system for intruders.

Hopefully, he'd get some useful answers now. Harry didn't fool himself into thinking he was perfectly safe simply because murder wasn't on the cards today. There were countless ways in which someone could manipulate an ignorant boy after all. Harry chose to stay on guard, hoping that whatever happened wouldn't damage him more than his old life had done.

* * *

"So what do we have here. A boy who ran away from whatever hole you came from, who's clueless about our community and his own heritage," the headmaster remarked, crossing his arms and leaning forward slightly, his expression now hungry.

Harry understood that this man was enjoying the attempts at humiliating him.

"I can put two and two together, you know. So let's skip the chitchat about magic and how pathetic I am for not knowing anything. Get to the point!" Harry shot back, irritated at the remark. He also felt like chastising himself for getting provoked so easily. The man's blue eyes were silently laughing at him.

"Bravo. So you want to keep this short. Very well." The headmaster stroked his goatee thoughtfully, thinking how to best explain this.

"Your helpless situation doesn't change the fact that your ignorance is affecting the lives of thousands of people and could possibly be...disastrous for all of us, but especially for me." Karkaroff hurried to explain.

"Great, and why should I care?" Harry gritted his teeth, frustration evident in his tone. "Why should you care?" the older wizard snarled in disbelief.

Harry averted his eyes, taking a moment to verbalize his thoughts.

"Well, I figured out that I'm kind of famous or at least well-known for people like you to go looking for m," said Harry. "But that doesn't change the fact that I don't give a damn about your life or whatever community you're part of."

"I wasn't following-" the man interrupted, but Harry continued, willing his hands to stop shaking. "That group of people, or wizards...they must have watched me leaving my family. Or someone bothered to tell them."

Harry's thoughts turned back to Mrs. Figg's suspicious behavior and he asked himself how long this has been going on.

"Ah, and that's the crux of the matter. Your family, boy. You've been raised by filthy Muggles and remained in the dark, because someone thought it would be brilliant to keep the great Harry Potter out of the limelight," Karkaroff elaborated, narrowing his eyes in contemplation.

Harry leaned forward as well. "You keep calling me great, or wizarding hero. And what was that? Boy-who-lived or some nonsense..."he trailed off.

"I won't bother explaining your own history to you or why your life affects all of us. You'll read about yourself in one of the books I'll give you as homework. But mark my words, Potter. You could have ended up back with your caretakers if those people had managed to get a hold of you. Apparently, your actions weren't very favorable in the eyes of light wizards, but I'd have done the same if I had found myself living with maggots." Karkaroff exclaimed, his anger suddenly making itself known to Harry.

"What are you taking about? Homework? Light wizards?" the boy demanded. But the headmaster only sighed in frustration, irritated beyond measure at having to explain these simple concepts.

He gathered himself quickly and said: "No one ever knew what happened to you and the wizarding world was led to believe that you grew up with full knowledge and awareness of what has happened. Your primary caretaker was a famous light wizard responsible for your wellbeing. The fool must have plans for you that made it vital for you to grow up without awareness of the wizarding community, choosing to let you loose on those Muggles."

Harry could infer that Muggles was probably a term for non-wizarding folks. But he had a caretaker? And the idea of a light wizarding community intrigued him. It suggested that there must be at least one counterpart and that this strange new world was not unified, if there were so many groups with different goals and views on magic. He tried to piece the puzzle together.

"You're not part of those light wizards or whatever they're called. And you don't seem to like non-magical people much..."

"Understatement, Potter" the man spat out. Harry ignored him, feeling increasingly comfortable with the idea that magic existed in the first place and that he was part of a greater scheme.

"And you kidnapped me, recognized me instantly" Harry thought out loud, keeping in mind that the man in front of him had been very interested in his scar back when he had approached him on the train. Karkaroff stared at him impassively.

"Which means you want to use me for your own personal gain if you're not part of them." Harry concluded, meeting his gaze head-on. The old geezer gave him a toothy grin in response. 'Disgusting,' thought Harry.

"And you won't have a choice in the matter. So let's get to the main business, shall we?"

Harry stared, his silence speaking for itself.

"I'll make this short. First things first, you will be staying in this castle and reading up on your history." He continued airily. "We are currently located at Durmstrang Institute, which is a prestigious wizarding boarding school here in Norway. Naturally, I'm the headmaster," he drawled.

Harry rolled his eyes, unimpressed with this man. He'd had to deal with adults who believed in their own superiority all his life. Unfortunately, Karkaroff still had the upper hand in this game and his next statement confirmed the boy's worries.

"You will eventually enroll as a student." And that made Harry pause. The wizard instantly caught his reaction.

"Believe me, I've wondered what do to with you. And no, this wasn't planned at all but it will benefit the both of us," the man admitted to Harry's surprise.

Harry thought about going to this school and what this new development meant for him. He had no idea what it entailed.

Something else also bothered him and he decided to ask.

"Okay, if this wasn't planned. What were you doing boarding a train in London? Why were you spending time with the-," Harry tested the word out, "Muggles if you hate them so much?"

Karkaroff snorted, not bothered at all. "Business that doesn't concern you,". Harry was suspicious, the man's motives not becoming any clearer.

They took another moment to assess each other.

"My plans involve your cooperation, but I can easily force you to do whatever I want," he threatened with a smile. "A well-placed curse would do the trick. Or I could send you back to where you came from, destroying all your memories from this meeting and what you have witnessed so far. You would remain completely ignorant. Waiting for your caretaker to do the rest," Karkaroff elaborated easily.

Harry couldn't imagine what was worse. Lack of knowledge or lack of agency. Both seemed like the easiest way to turn him into whatever these communities desired. And if there was something Harry feared it was the utter helplessness that came over you when you were forced to rely on others at the cost of your own independence.

And he believed Karkaroff's threats simply because he didn't know better. Harry swore he would raid the entire library of this school, if there was one.

Harry was ready to acquiesce. Becoming a student of this school didn't seem like such a bad deal for now, he told himself, trying to calm his nerves. He accepted.

"So what now?" the younger wizard asked.

"Elf," the old man suddenly barked, almost making Harry jump. And without warning the strangest creature Harry had ever seen popped out of nowhere.

"Master Karkaroff, sir" the thing responded timidly in English, its voice squeaky. Huge eyes were watching Harry.

"Bring Mr. Potter to one of the boy's dormitories. He is a guest, but he is not to leave the premises. You will take care of his needs," Karkaroff ordered.

Blue eyes settled on him. "And as for you, boy. We will discuss your future in more detail once you have bothered to read up on your situation. " And with that the man dismissed him, not giving him another look. Instead he made his way over to the glass cabinet again.

Harry had no choice but to leave, thinking about the short but informative conversation.

* * *

The inside of Durmstrang seemed more spacious, corridors leading to unknown places and the lack of artificial light or any light for that matter almost making him run into a wall. The house-elf, as Harry had learned after being "teleported" out of the office, seemed undeterred, leading him to a lower part of the castle, where the dormitories for the first years were located.

Harry had so many questions and he considered interrogating the creature some more, but eventually they reached their destination, standing in front of another nondescript-looking oak door.

"Master has ordered Harry Potter to rest. If Harry Potter needs something, call for Mindy to help." And without another word the house-elf disappeared from sight, leaving Harry staring dumbly at the spot where the creature just vanished.

"Eh okay," he said to no one, coming to the conclusion that this certainly was one of the weirdest exchanges he ever had. Not counting the time his cousin had caught chicken pox and kept calling him Aunt Marge in his feverish state. Harry never thanked him enough for infecting him as well.

Harry opened the door and found himself in what appeared to be a bedroom for 2 people. As far as he could tell there was no common room where students could gather before going to classes, each corridor simply leading straight to their dormitories. Maybe there was something like an assembly hall for them. Harry decided to explore the castle tomorrow, hoping to make the best out of this whole kidnapping situation.

The room wasn't overtly decorated and Harry only spotted a single portrait showing a vast landscape. Two bookcases and desks for each student could be found, as well as the door leading to an adjacent bathroom. But the most interesting and certainly most luxurious aspect was the walk-in closet, where Harry could already see half of it filled with various robes, shirts and even shoes for every occasion.

On what appeared to be his bed he found pajamas and underwear already laid out for him, which was kind of embarrassing. He doubted many students here needed these necessities that were provided by the school. Did he need to pay the school back somehow?

The thought filled Harry with dread.

Harry sighed, carefully sitting down on his bed and marginally relieved that nothing out of the ordinary happened. His mood turned sour, thoughts turning to all the new revelations and problems he'd have to face now.

The worst part was that he would be completely dependent on someone else, both emotionally and financially. It was certainly better to have a roof over your head than getting into a potentially difficult situation back in London. But the man was still a threat, no matter how promising his knowledge and this strange new world seemed to be.

Harry suddenly remembered the girl, Amy who in a drunken stupor had declared he would be destined for greatness. He didn't think she imagined the situation he was in now. Harry smiled wryly. He felt the urge to laugh and with a newfound determination he quickly stood and gathered the new clothes, hoping that he'd get rid of the Dursley's grime once and for all.

He made his way over to the bathroom and ignored his reflection in the mirror. The sun would rise soon and he hadn't gotten an ounce of sleep since leaving his family. The thought of food was even less of an option.

In a couple of hours he'd hopefully get more answers. He didn't bother to check the rest of the bedroom after taking his shower.

Too many things were on his mind, but eventually he made his way back to the bed and fell into a restless slumber, dark blue sheets covering his tired and emaciated body.

* * *

"Harry Potter, sir."

Harry mumbled something unintelligible, using a pillow to hide his face.

"Harry Potter, you must wake up," that squeaky voice broke through Harry's sleep-deprived senses. He grumbled, slowly coming to awareness.

"Please, Master Karkaroff requested your presence." And with that statement everything came rushing back. Harry turned his head and nearly fell out of his bed.

That annoying creature, Mindy something, was right in front of him, staring at the boy like he was the most disturbing sight in the world, big eyes an inch away from Harry's face.

"Don't _ever_ do that again!" Harry exclaimed, leaning back immediately. Legs got entangled in his sheet, but the house-elf was patiently waiting for him to find his bearings.

Harry -with some effort- managed to get out of bed and immediately hurried to find some clothes to wear, leaving his meager possessions, some cash and the stolen watch behind.

He grabbed the first thing he could find, which wasn't saying much considering he had no idea how proper wizarding outfits must look like and he rushed with a bundle of black robes, dark pants and a white shirt to the bathroom, keenly aware that the house-elf was still staring at him bemusedly.

Harry sighed, turning on the shower and wondering how much he's slept. He didn't have any dreams, which was a plus, but his muscles ached and he didn't feel ready to confront the older wizard again. He had the insane urge to laugh.

He didn't take long in the shower, mindful of the fact that he had a grumpy headmaster waiting for him. In the end, he decided to at least make himself look somewhat presentable, although he had no idea how to dry his hair properly since there were no items resembling anything close to a hairdryer.

'This is my life now." He sighed, frustrated that his wet hair wasn't lying flat even in this state.

"Youngsters these days, always so dramatic," an eerie voice shot back, amused.

Startled, he turned around only to see his own reflection in the mirror smirking back at him. Harry stared.

"Okay, this is definitely not normal," he mumbled, carefully backing away from whatever that thing was. House-elves were one thing, but talking mirrors reached a new level of weird.

Harry dressed quickly, but Mindy had another idea and with a pop she appeared in the bathroom only to snap her fingers and work her magic on the boy, doing the rest.

And Harry had no time to prepare himself for another uncomfortable sensation of space/teleporting, whatever it was.

He was left standing in front of the headmaster's office and the house-elf left again.

'Great,' he thought, nervously carding his fingers through already messy, elf-styled hair.

"Enter," Karkaroff's unmistakable dark voice cut through the silence and Harry quickly did as requested, meeting the steely gaze of his kidnapper again.

He also noticed that it was probably already late in the morning, which meant he'd slept longer than necessary.

"You didn't bother to show up in the Great Hall and it looks like you haven't eaten at all, boy," the man started off, putting what looked like a newspaper aside for a moment to regard the small boy more closely. His sneer told Harry everything.

"Actually, you look half-starved, which makes me question the environment you were living in, Potter. But we can't expect too much from Muggles, can we?" he voiced. Harry remained silent, not willing to rise to the bait.

Karkaroff waved his hand as if dismissing the subject, and leaned forward slightly. "Nevermind. Starting from today I expect you to take care of yourself properly, understood?"

"Yes, sir." Harry said tonelessly, already tired of the man's attitude.

"I have absolutely no time to take care of your needs, but I want to you to be present in the Great Hall. And after that, you will be spending the rest of your day in the library, Potter."

"Of course, sir."

The man nodded, satisfied and without another word he let him go. Harry turned and left the office quickly, his anger making itself visible the moment he was alone.

This was something Harry had feared after finding out about this deal. Getting ordered around bothered him, because it simply reminded him too much of the similarities between this world and the so called Muggle world. Harry didn't expect many things to change after yesterday's events, but the least he could ask for was an ounce of respect. He went in the direction where the 'Great Hall' supposedly was, using the opportunity to carefully orientate himself.

He reminded himself that as a boy soon to be turning 11, respect didn't really mean much. Harry contemplated the idea that maybe his fame in this world would be useful to make a pathway, but he felt slightly nauseated to use such methods.

He couldn't really imagine strutting around as if he owned the magical world simply because he was already famous for something he couldn't remember. Harry also told himself that respect was earned not on the basis of something he had done without awareness. Which means he'd have to do it the hard way, dealing with bothersome people like the headmaster.

Angry footsteps reached the main hall which wasn't far away from the main entrance. He closely inspected the Great Hall and was surprised to see it decorated with stone gargoyles, more pillars and high windows with stained glass making room for natural sunlight. Three long tables took up the majority of the space and at the front there was a single table positioned on a dais, which was probably for the professors.

He made his way over to the table which already had an assortment of dishes waiting for him. Absently he scratched the spot, where his scar on his forehead marred soft skin.

"Let's make the best of it," Harry shrugged, carefully inspecting food he'd never seen before. It'd be a long day.

* * *

The library was probably one of the most fascinating places Harry had ever seen. He hadn't really seen that much in his life yet. Rows upon rows were filled with tomes on subjects Harry thought were straight out of a fairy tale. Potions, Runes, Herbology. Though, he completely ignored the spot where Karkaroff had placed stacks of books for him to read after picking out the few useful ones. He'd choose his own reading material, thank you very much.

The smell of old parchment permeated the air and Harry enjoyed the moment of peace he could find here.

"Mindy," he called after a while.

And the obedient house-elf appeared immediately, waiting for Harry's instructions. He felt a bit bad about using these creatures without a care, but apparently that was another one of those odd things about the wizarding world he'd eventually have to accept.

"Could you please find me some books with references to the most famous people in the wizarding world. If my name is included, that'd also be helpful." Harry smiled and Mindy snapped gnarled fingers once again. At the nearest table another stack of books appeared out of nowhere and Harry sighed tiredly.

He's already picked _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century _from the first pile, but Mindy had also provided him with titles such as _Modern Magical History, __The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _and_ A History of Magic _by one Bathilda Bagshot.

Harry dismissed the house-elf and went to work. It would take a lot of patience to cross-reference all these books and try to understand the gist of it and he didn't really know what Karkaroff expected from him anyway.

He opened the Dark Arts one, mindful of the potential bias from the person who wrote it. It sounded interesting, though.

* * *

Harry scribbled furiously on a piece of parchment Mindy has given him. It took some time getting used to write using a quill and Harry looked dismayed at the countless ink stains. He frowned, but continued summarizing certain paragraphs while skipping over useless pieces of information he didn't need at the moment. His thoughts were a jumbled mess, turning from killing curses to Dark Lords and back again to the First Wizarding War. He'd quickly sought out information on all the previous wars this world had suffered from.

It was quite a lot.

Apparently, this entire conflict between the so called Dark side and the Light one was nothing new and many wizards and witches had envisioned a world for their respective kind, rising above the masses and instigating bloodshed and fights that went on for years. Harry had been amused to see just how truthful the "Muggles" had been about Merlin and several other prominent figures. Harry also came to the conclusion that he was simply just part of a long line of pre-determined conflicts with an added bonus.

His "defeat" of the Dark Lord Voldemort was a mysterious case of magical interference and that's why he was so famous to begin with.

Harry had examined all the possible theories that witches and wizards had proposed, with one prominent at the forefront of his mind.

Thoughts on his mother's sacrifice turned to a fantasy of a life he could've had if not for Voldemort's obsession. It made him furious, but with that feeling also came a sense of melancholic understanding. He had stared for a long time at the moving picture in the book depicting the Potters.

There were endless "what ifs", but Harry had long since lost the ability to believe that good things would happen to him simply because he wanted it that way. There wasn't much time for fun and naive hopes when a madman was after him.

And the possibility was there.

Speculations arose upon discovery that Voldemort somehow found the secret to immortality.

And Harry immediately agreed with the theory that the man was alive, considering that no corpse has been found at Godric's Hollow after the Killing Curse had rebounded. You didn't just explode or disappear after that.

'This is all so stupid," Harry murmured, tirelessly continuing to read.

After hours of work, the house-elf reminded him to be present for dinner, so Harry quickly made his way to the Great Hall and continued to ignore Karkaroff's speculative gaze while eating. He had been careful not to make himself sick. It would take time to get used to this kind of luxury.

Harry also thought it odd that no one else aside from the Headmaster had been present. Where were all the professors at this school?

Undisturbed, he eventually made his way back to the library and took some books with him to the dormitory.

On his way he passed a Ghost, which gave him another shock. The somewhat unattractive woman with a long and pallid face introduced herself as Eileen Prince, smiling enthusiastically and wishing Harry a good night, before disappearing through another wall.

He doubted he would have nice dreams now. Next time people would probably tell him rainbow-farting unicorns were real.

He shuddered.

Harry continued reading _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_, wanting to know more about Durmstrang and what this kind of education truly meant for him. In the end, his tired eyes forced him to take his much needed break.

With thoughts centered on Voldemort and Durmstrang's own Lord Grindelwald Harry fell asleep.

* * *

It took him several weeks to get a full grasp on the situation in the wizarding world and many discussions with the Headmaster that made Harry's frustrations rise with each meeting.

School term would start soon and Harry had gotten the necessary equipment sponsored by the Headmaster, excluding a wand he still needed to buy. He'd also managed to change his Muggle cash into wizarding currency with Mindy's help. Surprisingly, Harry was happy with the idea to cut his ties with his past, now fully aware that he'd have eventually gotten his Hogwarts letter anyway. His life was bound to change no matter what, but this time Harry had the tools at his disposal to control his own fate.

It also meant spending endless days in the library, finding out just how much of a tool Harry was supposed to be.

He wasn't all that fond of the idea that Karkaroff wanted to turn him into a proper and powerful wizard simply as means of survival. Harry had squeezed out the entire, nasty history of the headmaster, including his betrayal of the Dark Lord and his status as a wanted man amongst the dark wizarding community, especially the Dark Lord's Inner Circle. It had been funny listening to the man's deluded hopes that he was destined to fight and defeat Voldemort, but it also limited Harry's own movements. Where Karkaroff got his ideas from, no one knew.

He vowed to get independent from the man's influences and hoped others would give him the opportunity to do so. Karkaroff wasn't really well-liked at this school, as Eileen had told him. No surprise there.

Harry absentmindedly rubbed his scar while reading another tome on Light Magic, which was a rare subject discussed at Durmstrang. Sometimes he wondered how he'd get along with the people attending this school, what with his status as slayer of the Dark Lord.

No teachers have arrived yet, but tomorrow he would meet the first people who would be part of his life for the next seven years of education.

Harry was anxious. He didn't really want a repeat of his bullying years. On top of that, people in positions of power could be troublesome as well, if not more so.

Coincidentally, Hogwarts term would also start September, 1. And word has gotten around by now.

During breakfast, Karkaroff had wordlessly handed him the "Daily Prophet", an English wizarding paper.

The headlines highlighted panic all over Britain, and Dumbledore was currently looking for the Boy-Who-Lived-Gone-Missing, leaving the Ministry in chaos.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Will he be able to find me here?" he asked carefully, his hand reaching for the teapot. Until now the esteemed Headmaster of Hogwarts must have kept silent about the situation.

"They've lost your trail on the train and I have erased both of our magical signatures before portkeying away. They won't find you, unless someone from inside the school gives your location away," replied Karkaroff gruffly.

If anything, that made Harry even more anxious.

"And how are you planning on keeping my presence here a secret from...I don't know, maybe 500 people?" Harry shot back, disbelieving.

Karkaroff simply smirked. "I have my ways as headmaster of this school."

The younger boy averted his eyes, by now used to the man's antics and non-answers. Karkaroff snorted, staring him down.

"Listen to me, Potter. I can easily deposit you at the gates of Hogwarts with a gift bag for Dumbledore. It's your choice to play light wizarding hero under his thumb, but with you on his side the war is as good as lost," he declared dispassionately. "I might as well sign my death warrant."

"And again, why should I care?"

The older man shrugged. "You don't, which is good. I'd be teaching a fool if you started to get sentimental on me." He paused, taking a breath and his eyes were suddenly hard, imploring. Harry met his gaze, curious to see where this was going.

"You have the choice to learn all that is necessary from inside out. You'll be able to defend yourself with in-depth knowledge of the power the Dark Lord wields. Knowledge of the people who belong to families and close associates of his Inner Circle. And it's nothing Dumbledore can offer you, no matter how much of an equal he is to the Dark Lord." The last part sounded as if it cost the older wizard to admit as such.

"This is something that you can't escape from, Potter. You won't be able to disappear if the entire wizarding world is putting their hopes on your shoulders!" the man exclaimed.

Harry thought it over and regarded the man for a moment.

"You don't have much confidence in the Light side to begin with. But I've read the statistics and they vastly outnumber your kind. On the battlefield, they could easily crush the Dark Lord's forces," he stated carefully.

"With a measly _Stupefy _and_ Expelliarmus_, you mean." Another sneer marred the man's face. "If the Light side defeats his army with your help, they'll simply be incarcerated until they plead innocent. I know them. I did the same, after all. It would only take a few years, before another uprising crushes the wizarding world simply because Dumbledore's people are _too ethical_ to kill. And you'd be on the hit list." The man crossed his arms, a tiredness briefly showing in his eyes.

He glared at Harry. "Tell me boy, would you be able to kill, torture, maim?"

Harry felt sick. "You're asking an eleven years old boy if I'm a murderer?" he voiced.

"It doesn't matter what you want anyway. You'll have to do it one way or another, either on my side or on the Light side. Minimum one murder unless you want to get yourself killed by the Dark Lord, of course."

It looked like Karkaroff was taunting him now.

Harry only realized now just how much of an impact his decisions could make and he felt fear, the gravity of the situation hitting him hard. Just weeks ago he worried about finding another home and now he'd have to kill or be killed.

Harry lost his appetite and stood, ready to leave.

"You can't leave this school now, as you know. So take your time to think about it carefully. And be prepared for tomorrow. We're leaving early before the others arrive." The man turned away from him and left the Great Hall before Harry could. Harry noticed the jerky and abrupt way Karkaroff was clutching his forearm.

The black-haired wizard stood unmoving. Nausea plagued him and he felt the urge to run away.

Karkaroff was right in a way.

Harry was now part of the wizarding world and that meant he was also part of all its problems. Observing and choosing his side carefully was detrimental to his naked survival.

And there was also another thought that struck him. He didn't think he was a Dark wizard or a Light one. Hell, he didn't even have his own wand yet, which he would be getting tomorrow according to the man's earlier promises. And maybe he simply wasn't powerful enough to deal with an immortal man hell-bent on killing him. How could he do it anyway? And why was Karkaroff so sure that Harry could do it? There was probably more to the story than he thought.

It was also quite obvious that despite the elder wizard's determination to destroy his kind for the sake of his own wellbeing, the man longed for the Dark. Whatever Harry would do was bound to be closely observed by a man who had his own ideas and principles already. And Harry who had so much to learn could either choose to do it the bloody way and with full awareness of the brutality he would witness.

Or he could take refuge under Dumbledore's protection and hope for the best.

_Hope_. Right. What a laughable concept.

Harry left the Great Hall, light steps carrying him to the library. He swiped his cold hands across his forehead, trying to calm down.

The ghostly eyes of one Eileen Prince followed his movements closely, lips twitching in delight.

Miles away in a forest somewhere in Albania, two pieces of one soul found each other again, carefully watching how their cowardly servant finished working on a very specific ritual. Nearby, a young boy not much older than Harry was struggling to get free from the binds.

* * *

_Slow start, but I hope you liked it =) Let me know what you think._


	2. Of Diaries and Wands

******DISCLAIMER:** The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

**Note: Huge thanks for the feedback. =) Now on to the second installment.**

* * *

**Chapter 2 : Of Diaries and Wands**

It's been a while since Harry felt that particular amount of pain. Usually it was more external and easy to handle when he knew what to expect. Dudley's kicks and punches were predictable. So was his uncles occasional unyielding grip on his arms.

But this time the source was purely magical, unexpected and the main reason why Harry hadn't gotten even a wink of sleep. His scar had simply hurt too much. And wasn't that just perfect?

His famous mark from Voldemort has never hurt or given him any trouble at all. He's mostly forgotten he even had it.

Harry splashed some water on his face and grimaced at the sight he made. Even his talkative mirror image had nothing to say this time. Bloody brilliant.

Today he'd make his first trip to the wizarding world. And he'd finally get his wand, which was a something he should celebrate.

But he wasn't up to it and he really didn't feel like he could handle Karkaroff's sneering demeanor today.

Harry dressed quickly, throwing a black robe over his nondescript attire. Not only would he have to be mentally prepared for this trip, but he would also meet his classmates this evening.

School term was starting today and the thought alone made him ill. The rest of the staff was already here.

Harry left his dormitory and quickly made his way over to the Great Hall. He could already hear the distinct sounds of people talking and from what he made out it was quite heated. Harry steeled himself for what was to come.

With determined steps and confidence he didn't feel Harry entered the hall.

At once the noise stopped.

'Just great', Harry thought wryly, calmly walking forward and gazing at the High table where he could see twelve or so people watching him in return. And they certainly fit right into Durmstrang with their calculating looks, their black robes and overall intimidating appearances.

"Good morning," Harry greeted, bowing slightly, with hands held behind his back. He then sat at his regular table and tried to ignore everything. He wasn't quite sure what one did in such a situation. He was the only student present after all and he really didn't feel like talking more than necessary.

"Good morning, Potter. I see you are punctual," Karkaroff exclaimed. "Introductions are in order, but unfortunately we don't have much time. Make it quick," he ordered.

Harry frowned, taking another piece of toast for good measure. The old man could give him five minutes at the very least. With another glance, Harry noticed how seemingly unamused the rest of the staff were with the headmaster, obviously not happy with the rude dismissal. None of the teachers approached him, but they didn't talk to Karkaroff either.

Harry also noticed a somewhat handsome looking middle-aged man with brown hair watching him intensely. The man sat on the left, next to the headmaster and he wasn't shy about his observation or the fact that Harry subtly returned the favor for a moment. 'Odd,' was Harry's first thought.

Harry didn't really get to enjoy breakfast, the constant staring annoying him. He barely refrained from rolling his eyes when Karkaroff left the High table and instructed the handsome teacher to take care of everything in his absence. 'Must be the deputy headmaster or something,' Harry concluded.

He left with Karkaroff in silence.

As soon as they were outside, the old wizard drew his wand and quickly pointed it right at Harry's face.

'Shit,' Harry thought, his green eyes widening when an unknown spell washed over him, immediately taking effect.

"What-," he said, startled.

"A wizard of your standing must always be prepared, but you can calm down, boy. This is for your own safety," Karkaroff explained and Harry could already feel the differences. The man cast a glamour on him, which would hide his appearance.

The headmaster did the same and his harsh features turned into an unassuming specimen with prominent cheekbones and slanted, grey eyes, completing the look. Harry really didn't want to know how he looked like now.

It was decidedly colder than the last time when Harry first came to Durmstrang. The early September air seeped right into his bones. The last few weeks Harry had explored the castle as much as possible. He particularly enjoyed the Quidditch pitch, but was always mindful of the wards that effectively trapped him in place.

His summer so far has been the most eventful experience he ever had, but Harry was sure that whatever came next would throw him deeper into the unknown.

Karkaroff reached out and took his hand. Harry didn't even bother preparing himself for the uncomfortable feeling that came with apparition. It was like being forced through a very tight rubber tube and Harry would probably never get used to it.

* * *

"Welcome to Berlin," Karkaroff muttered, letting go of him when Harry barely managed to stay on his feet. 'Bastard.' Harry glared.

They were currently right in the middle of the wizarding shopping district and it was packed with witches and wizards and so many other creatures. An ugly, toothless hag was already trying to sell her trinkets, begging Harry to take a closer look.

"Stay close to me and don't talk."

Harry obeyed, but couldn't help but stare, taking in the bizarre environment. This world was so entirely different from everything he ever imagined. Even the buildings looked like something not commonly found in this world. People were wearing the oddest assortment of clothes and you could see owls and other pets, and flying objects.

"_Gregorovitch's Zauberstäbe_ is one of the most popular wandmaker businesses in Europe," Karkaroff informed Harry, casually pointing at a rundown building right to the left. They crossed the street and Harry wondered if that popularity stemmed from something else. So far nothing about this shop seemed impressive. Even the candy store next to it looked more inviting with all its explosive items and colors.

The younger wizard was smart enough not to voice his observation. They entered, but before they could even make two more steps, an older witch with bright red hair approached them immediately.

"We're closed," the assistant said in English with a prominent accent, and motioned for them to leave again.

"Excuse me?" Karkaroff stared at her in disbelief.

"You heard me. We're closed. Please leave."

Harry sighed and turned away, hoping that this wouldn't escalate. But the older wizard glared and demanded an explanation. To Harry's surprise, she actually gave him one.

"Master Gregorovitch is out of the country. He's currently doing business elsewhere."

"And where would that be?" Igor groused out. Her expression told Harry how unimpressed she was with the man's attitude, which was a common occurrence with people who dealt with Karkaroff. Harry gave a tight lipped smile and she shot him an undecipherable look.

"Confidential information. You can come back next week if you want." She crossed her arms.

Harry didn't have to wait long for Karkaroff to lose it, now familiar with the man's mood swings and general lack of rational behavior. With a flick of his wand, the spell previously hiding Harry's features was gone and the reaction was instantaneous.

"Harry Potter," she whispered in awe, her gaze fixed on the prominent scar.

"I thought my current location was supposed to be a secret," Harry murmured angrily, raising his eyebrows when he got nothing but a small smile in return from the man. The headmaster's glamoured eyes assessed the witch shrewdly.

"I have a tricky costumer who's in need of a wand and it can't wait," Karkaroff stated.

She shot Harry another look and her entire expression became friendly and welcoming. "I can't sell wands without my Master's permission, but-" the witch trailed off. She immediately grabbed something from behind the counter and scribbled a note on a piece of parchment. She also took a small figurine out of a nearby shelf. Without hesitation she gave the man what Harry assumed was the wandmaker's location and smiled at Harry.

"Everyone's been looking for you, Mr. Potter," stated the assistant. Harry didn't react at all, suddenly wanting to get out of here.

"Indeed, they have. But they won't find anything," the headmaster said impassively. And with another move that Harry could only secretly admire, Karkaroff reacted.

"_Obliviat_e."

A spell Harry recognized from before and one that erased memories as far as he knew.

Karkaroff casually put Harry's glamour back in place and they left the shop after the old man made sure the witch's memories were sufficiently altered.

"Using my fame to get what you want," said Harry dryly, making sure that he wasn't walking behind the headmaster like a lost puppy.

"In time you'll learn to do the same." Karkaroff smirked. He inspected the figurine more closely and groaned inaudibly after reading the note.

"This is unexpected and we'll have to be even more careful from now on," he murmured and incinerated the parchment with a flick of his wand.

"Why?" Harry asked.

He didn't manage to take a closer look, but they'd obviously have to travel again, this time with a dreaded portkey. He didn't get an answer. Karkaroff activated the device and they left in whirlwind of colors, leaving wizarding Berlin not long after having arrived. Harry swore he'd take the time to explore the community more closely in the future.

* * *

"Oh hell, what is this place?" Harry groused out, wobbling slightly after that excruciating journey. Seriously, were all wizarding methods of traveling so crappy?

He looked around, uncomfortable with the sudden climate change. The heat bothered him and he wished he possessed the skills to transfigure his clothes. Karkaroff looked unconcerned, quickly casting a cooling charm on himself, before pushing through the crowd. Harry had no choice but to tag along.

"This is the capital of Morocco," Karkaroff explained offhandedly, pushing past another tourist. Some people were watching the older wizard curiously, glancing at his attire more closely. So much for keeping a low profile.

"Morocco? We're in Morocco?" Harry exclaimed. He'd never even seen the ocean and now he was on another continent?

"Obviously, Potter. But do hurry up. We don't have all day."

Harry had no time to admire the eclectic Morocco architecture with its vast cultural influences, as they quickly approached an all white house with narrow windows. Guards were keeping a close watch on the people who entered the building. Was it a museum?

Both wizards were granted access without further inspection and Harry's initial thoughts turned out to be correct. Inside, people were already bustling around, taking pictures of the presented artifacts and talking in hushed whispers.

The older wizard made his way over to a small statue at the far end of the hall and Harry glanced curiously at the glass case with its golden embroidery that protected the object inside. No one was paying attention to Karkaroff when he reached out, his hand passing through the case as if liquified upon contact. Harry stepped closer and without warning both of them were sucked right into the case. Another obscure traveling method, Harry found out later, when he landed in a dusty old room somewhere else.

He rightened himself, warily observing his new surroundings. Voices could be heard from the adjacent room and Karkaroff beckoned him to come closer.

"Mykew?" the headmaster called out. At once footsteps were approaching them and suddenly Harry knew that he was meeting the esteemed wandmaker when the man stepped inside. A big bushy beard obscured half of his face and the portly wizard zeroed in on the headmaster. Recognition shone in his brown eyes and Harry had no idea how that was possible, considering Karkaroff's glamoured appearance.

"Igor?"

The headmaster nodded vigorously and without hesitation the two of them hugged and rapidly began speaking to each other in...Russian?

Harry might as well not have been in the room with the attention both of them were paying to him. 'Great. First he's scolding me for taking too much time and now he's wasting it catching up with his friend,' he thought snidely.

So he turned away from them and took a closer look at the various objects littering this place.

A single stick was lying on a faded red cushion on the wooden table along with various different objects like stones, vials and...was that hair? The room was tiny, but Harry concluded that these must indeed be wands if the hundreds of narrow boxes piling right up to the ceiling were any indication. Gregorovitch must have either opened up another shop here in Morocco or the man was visiting another wandmaker.

The latter was proven right when someone tapped him on his shoulder.

"Welcome, Harry Potter," an elderly woman greeted him kindly, ignoring the two other wizards who were still engaged in a heated conversation. She had a hooked nose and beady brown eyes. Her powdered red cheeks were even more prominent up close. Grey, frizzled hair was framing a round face. She was as tall as Harry, which wasn't saying much.

"Eh, hello. How did you-" Harry started, turning to face her fully.

"Oh, Igor always prided himself on his skills, but charms, and especially glamours were never his speciality," she offered, winking at the boy. It wasn't much of an explanation, but Harry didn't push further.

"I'm Carolina Yassine of the Yassine wandmaking business since...forever," she introduced herself, smiling brightly.

They regarded each other for a moment before Harry broke the silence.

"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Yassine" Harry said, a bit hesitant on the pronunciation. He was annoyed that everyone presumed to know him so well and was acting so familiar around him. He continued nonetheless.

"I'm here for a wand and Headmaster Karkaroff wanted me to buy one from Mr. Gregorovitch."

"Indeed," concluded the witch, nodding in affirmation. "But I have a feeling you'll find your match in my humble establishment today," she said. Harry didn't really know how to proceed, but he was saved from replying when Gregorovitch greeted him enthusiastically, abandoning his conversation with Igor in favor of the Boy-Who-Lived.

"Mr. Potter, it is a pleasure to meet you." Mykew shook hands with him and told him everything about the news circulating in Germany, Harry's disappearance and the outrageous conclusions the British have come to. Harry discreetly tried to wipe his hand, only listening to half of Gregorovitch's babbling.

"Obviously they vould not be delighted to see you in my company. Dreadful and prejudiced, those people."

"Mykew, the boy needs a wand," Carolina interrupted and Harry was glad to see his monologue coming to an end. Karkaroff had been suspiciously silent until now.

"Of course, of course." The wandmaker nodded, stepping aside.

"Hold on, we requested a wand from Mykew's shop," Igor interfered, dismissing Ms. Yassine entirely. Mykew gave him a sceptical look, his cheerful behavior cracking slightly. Harry narrowed his eyes at the man.

"And that makes no difference, my friend. I also believe Mr. Potter vould be more suited to acquire a vand from Carolina's set." That seemed to shut up the headmaster, although he didn't really seem happy about the outcome. Harry had noticed earlier in the Great Hall how few witches were employed at Durmstrang. And Karkaroff didn't seem to hold much respect for Ms. Yassine if his look was an indication. If anything, this told him that the elderly wizard didn't really respect a witch's achievement in general. Or maybe he was just a misogynistic asshole. Harry could certainly believe it.

"Now, shall we proceed?" the wandmaker clapped his hands in delight and Harry went through the proceedings. He was surprised to find out that it mattered whether he was right-handed or not, and Harry wondered what it would be like to be ambidextrous and in possession of two wands. According to Carolina, few wizards ever wielded more than one wand and in some countries it was even illegal to have two. She'd shot him an approving look at his inquiry, though.

Two hours later and Harry had seemingly tried waving every single wand in the shop. Karkaroff looked frustrated and was checking the time every 30 minutes or so. They'd have to be back at Durmstrang soon for the Welcoming Feast.

'Should have done that trip earlier," Harry thought, not bothered with the man's impatience.

Things exploded randomly, boxes were set on fire and in many cases nothing happened at all. But both wandmakers looked even more excited than before. Harry had no idea why.

He even feared he'd not get a wand at all.

"I wonder...," Mykew began mumbled something under his breath. Carolina seemed to catch on and pointed at a box that was warded heavily. The man disabled them with a wave of his hand and took the black box carefully from the shelf.

"Try this one, my boy," Ms. Yassine whispered, her eyes shining in delight.

Harry felt the static energy at once and wondered whether the others would be able to feel it as well.

Opening the box, he knew that this one was his as soon as he touched the handle. A feeling of rightness and belonging coursed through him, momentarily making him gasp. It was like greeting an old friend.

"Splendid, Mr. Potter. Simply wonderful," the witch exclaimed loudly, clapping when bright red sparks were shooting out of it. Mykew smirked in dark satisfaction, but no one noticed.

Karkaroff offered a tight-lipped smile and asked for the properties. However, Caroline dismissed him entirely.

"One moment before you go," she said, making her way over to the shelf and retrieving an old leather-bound book.

"Please take this and read it carefully," She looked into Harry's eyes deeply and suddenly a voice echoed inside his head, as if from far away. "Your wand is made of Rowan, with"- the voice hesitated. "flesh of a Dementor for the core. 12 inches long, very solid. It's especially good for healing and offensive magic. I'm not surprised it chose you, Mr. Potter."

Harry wanted to say something but she broke the eye contact and he knew that he'd have to keep this information a secret for now. He'd read about Dementors, some of the foulest creatures to walk the earth. He also mulled over the properties. How was a Dementor in combination with Rowan supposed to be good for healing? And offensive magic? What type?

It also bothered him how wizards were apparently able to break into someone's head so easily.

Harry didn't show he acknowledged her, but he took the book nonetheless and met Karkaroff's speculative look.

"Very well, we shall be on our way. It was good to see you again, Mykew." The headmaster said something else in Russian and motioned for Harry to get moving.

"I also trust that our presence here shall remain a secret," the old man asked. Gregorovitch chuckled and shook Harry's hand again. The younger boy grimaced internally.

"Don't worry, my friend. Every customer has a right to privacy and we respect that right. No one will know about it." Mykew smiled innocently, the look somehow strange on his aged features.

Harry could already see the countless loopholes in that statement, but Igor didn't seem alarmed. The man simply took out the necklace he once had used to kidnap the boy and Harry shuffled over, saying his goodbye. "Do visit again," she said before they could disappear. Harry gave a small smile in acceptance.

Both wandmakers were watching him carefully and Carolina even gave him a thumbs up as if Harry had achieved something monumental. He held the book closely and hoped Karkaroff wouldn't insist on reading it.

However, now Harry had a wand that fit him and if the magic emanating from it was an indication, he'd have more opportunities at his disposal, more chances to learn and to defend himself if necessary.

It was time to leave Morocco.

* * *

"Welcome back, Harry," Eileen greeted him, casually floating through the wall and right into his room. The ghost was her usual cheerful self.

"Hello, Eileen." Harry straightened his blood-red robes, the official Durmstrang attire, which was also proudly displaying the double-headed eagle, Durmstrang's coat of arms. He struggled with tying his black sash, never having worn such luxury in his life.

Harry had grown somewhat fond of her ghostly presence over the last couple of weeks.

"I don't suppose you know what to do with my hair?" he asked, looking dismayed at the state of pure, black chaos on his head. He didn't care much for appearances, but the students were about to arrive and this would be his first introduction to his classmates, people he'd have to deal with for the next seven years. He really didn't fancy making a fool of himself and thus making matters more difficult than necessary. From what he read about this school, it was all about appearances, control and pureblood propaganda. Him being the slayer of the Dark Lord wouldn't exactly help.

"Not really," she said, looking him over. She paused, before continuing.

"You know, I had a son who behaved very much like you and never knew what to do about his looks either." Eileen smiled fondly, reminiscing.

"That's great, but I don't think the headmaster will appreciate if I look like a slob."

"And you care so much about what he thinks?" she scoffed, a hand passing through Harry's hair casually. He didn't feel her touch, but the sensation was unpleasant.

"True." he murmured, conceding. The mirror image whistled after Harry was done with the sash. He really didn't look half-bad and it seemed the Eileen agreed.

"The rebellious style suits you just fine, Harry. You're really not one for all that proper pureblood conduct. Leave your hair as is." One last touch and she retreated.

"Besides, you remind me of a student I met. He was all about proper behavior and image and I often wondered what it'd look like to see him less than composed," she ended.

Harry straightened himself, green eyes staring at the picture he made, ignoring her words. Karkaroff had insisted on throwing out everything he ever possessed, which wasn't much. The old man even bought him new glasses similar to his old ones. The boy had barely managed to save his old ones from a similar fate.

His side of the room was now packed with books and parchment, various robes and a new trunk. Karkaroff had returned with so many items. He even insisted on buying a pet for him, which was the point where the younger wizard drew the line. Harry wasn't kidding himself, though. He was currently nothing more than a dress-up doll made to look like a powerful wizard. He simply hoped that one day the less than subtle manipulations would come to an end.

"Fine, I'll leave it like that," Harry waved his new wand, cleaning some dust off his shoes. The last two hours after returning were used to practice as much as magic as possible. Harry had caught up on some theoretical work over the last few weeks, but spellwork was another matter. And he struggled, which worried him more than he'd like to admit.

"Good. I'll see you at the Welcoming Feast." And with that the ghost disappeared, leaving Harry to his anxious thoughts.

He checked whether everything was sufficiently packed away, hoping that his meager warding spell would hold against any intruders. He didn't fancy his potential new roommate looking over his stuff and finding the book Carolina has given him. Hopefully he'd get a chance to take a closer look at it later.

"Tempus"

Not much time left. Harry hoped Karkaroff wouldn't turn him into a spectacle. Harry left his room and prepared himself mentally.

* * *

The Great Hall wasn't decorated much and the tables were at their usual positions, but Harry enjoyed the torches with its blue fire lighting this place.

Harry knew that the school didn't have a house system like Hogwarts, having read all about the different ways children were placed into groups according to their personalities and wishes. He didn't know how they exactly these things were determined at Hogwarts, by now used to the snobbish way each wizarding school kept its secrets. Books on the Founders of Hogwarts held no answers.

In a way he appreciated the lack of segregation at Durmstrang, because it made everyone attending this school more equal to each other. It certainly would prove to be much more competitive.

And the black-haired boy had no problem believing that individual talents would matter more than group thinking.

He made his way over to the teacher's table, politely greeting the people whom he was yet introduced to. The handsome Deputy gave him a secretive smile.

"Now. You will be joining the First Years, but seeing as you're already here we will skip the official introduction and I'll make a statement before the Feast," Karkaroff informed him.

'Awesome,' Harry thought, nodding in acceptance. Something must've shown on his face when he caught the deputy headmaster's smile turning into a smirk.

Harry was dismissed and he returned to the table where the First Year students would be seated. Soon enough, a crowd of people led by a stern-looking, tall witch dressed in customary, black robes entered the Great Hall. More and more people spilled in and the atmosphere became stifling. Harry was used to the silence and general loneliness that usually accompanied. His anxiety rose.

Many students shot him curious looks, most of them dressed in exactly the same fashion as Harry. Not many recognized him from what Harry could see and no one approached him. Not for the first time, the young boy wondered how Karkaroff would manage to keep his presence a secret when so many people would soon learn of his identity.

When everyone was seated, Karkaroff rose and cast a _sonorus_.

"Welcome back, Willkommen and Dobry Wieczór, ladies and gentlemen," the headmaster greeted, extending his arms.

Harry has read about the international, multilingual way in which students were taught magic at Durmstrang, remembering that classes were taught in English, but the students also had options to take some classes in their native language. It was much different from other wizarding schools.

Harry also knew that other than English and some broken French, he couldn't speak another language. He ought to learn more to communicate with his classmates properly. The pile of homework and general tasks he assigned to himself was growing each day.

"Welcome to another term here at Durmstrang Institute. Before we begin with the feast, I'd like to make some announcements. But first, please welcome the First Years who will be joining us." Polite clapping followed.

A side door opened and another group of people entered the room, led by the Deputy Headmaster. All of these kids were just as curious and fascinated as Harry had been when he first came to this school. They were looking around nervously.

"You are placed into different classes according to your magical skills, but we will be having a period of evaluation for a week, after which we will give out new timetables." If anything, the first year students looked even more nervous and Harry secretly panicked. He hadn't known about that. Classes that tested his magical skill? He's barely practiced magic...

"No staff changes have been made, but I have a very important announcement for all of you." Some of the teachers were now looking in his direction and Harry tried to look indifferent to all of it.

"Please welcome, Mr. Harry James Potter to Durmstrang," Karkaroff said and chaos broke out. Older students were pointing fingers, some were shouting and others were gaping at him in disbelief.

"Potter, no way-"

"What about the Dark Lord-"

"It's not possible, he-"

The professors didn't appreciate the noise and some of them grimaced in obvious dislike.

"Silence!" Karkaroff shouted and people obeyed, giving him nasty looks in return.

"You are not allowed to speak of him or his presence here at the school to any outsiders. Mr. Potter's education remains a secret to everyone not attending Durmstrang similar to the way we don't talk about the curriculum or the school's location. If you don't agree with this, you are free to leave but you will be expelled and your memories of this place or the students here terminated permanently." Karkaroff threatened and to Harry's surprise some students looked like they'd rather leave at once.

He expected hostility and outright bullying, but the situation was worse than he thought. Karkaroff gave another sign and with that the first year students made their way over to Harry's table. They kept their distance but weren't shy about their observation. A girl with blonde pig-tails murmured something to another girl and they giggled. Harry was already fed up.

Karkaroff clapped and various dishes appeared out of nowhere. Harry's appetite was nonexistent.

* * *

An elderly professor who looked like he'd rather be somewhere else led the First Years to the familiar dormitories. Harry couldn't wait to escape the whole affair, keeping his distance from the overexcited bunch of students.

The feast had been one of the worse experience in Harry's life. He didn't make any small talk and no one bothered to introduce themselves to him. This whole celebrity status grated on his nerves. On top of that, his scar had acted up again, shooting small spasms of pain through his skull. He had also caught the headmaster gripping his forearm tightly at some point.

"I'm Professor Laurens Wilkes and I'm teaching Potions," said the teacher, interrupting Harry's musings. He handed out parchments which included the timetable for the first week of the term and the room numbers." Harry was glad to see he'd be staying in his. The Potions professor shot him an indecipherable look. Harry tried to ignore it.

"No doubt, most of you will encounter trouble in my class, but I won't blame you for failing," he offered magnanimously, making the small children glare at him in return.

"Now off to bed. If you have questions, feel free to approach an older student." And with that, the man left them hanging.

Harry was the first to open the door and without another glance he made his way to the bedroom, hoping that no one would confront him now. There was a small, nagging voice inside him that told him he was fleeing. Harry hated it.

The other students began to chat excitedly, while some others sought out their own rooms.

Harry entered his room, blissful of the silence that was soon interrupted when the door opened again. Just his luck.

"I'm really lucky," a voice drawled and Harry whirled around, meeting bright blue eyes.

"Filipp Dolohov," the boy said, offering his hand. He was standing way too close to Harry. "Pleasure," Harry returned, remembering himself. He didn't bother telling him his name.

"I guess you're just too pleased sharing a room with me," Harry took in the other boy's appearance and vaguely noted a certain handsomeness on him. The name triggered something in his memory.

"If you mean, sharing a room with the famous Boy-Who-Lived, discovering all his habits and secrets and generally making your life less dull, then yes. I'm very pleased." The smug smile was distracting.

"My life is very exciting, thank you." Harry shot back, emotions carefully hidden.

"All the more reason for secrets, isn't it?" the boy said casually. He then stepped away from him to inspect his surroundings more closely. His trunk was already there. Harry observed him warily.

"Secrets are only shared with friends," the green-eyed boy murmured. The other First Year must've heard him anyway.

"And I intend to become your friend." With that Dolohov untied his sash and made his way over to the walk-in closet.

'I doubt that,' Harry thought, dragging himself to the bathroom.

No more words were exchanged between them and when Harry retreated to his bed, he withdrew the book, intending to read the first chapter before going to sleep. Filipp ignored him.

Upon closer inspection, Harry figured out that this must be a journal.

He wondered who Hepzibah Smith was, carefully tracing the letters on the cover revealing the owner.

* * *

_Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it. And our favorite Dark Lord will be making an appearance soon. =)_


	3. No Loyalty to the Dark

**DISCLAIMER:** The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

Note: Thanks again for your reviews and for favoriting/following this story. I messaged everyone who asked more specific questions.

**Trigger warnings/additional warnings:** Death, corpses, detailed description of mutilated bodies, decapitation, swearing.

* * *

**Chapter 3: No Loyalty to the Dark**

The book was a waste of his time.

Harry walked quickly towards the classroom, deliberately ignoring his fellow classmates who were already whispering and pointing fingers. His mind was occupied with new revelations. Or lack thereof.

Initially, he had expected more from the two wandmakers.

Harry believed they would give him something useful, something to help him out. Maybe a correct guide how to deal with the properties of his wand, or a spectacular research from this Hepzibah Smith person.

Instead he'd wasted another hour reading through the most boring, simpering account of someone's insignificant life. If anything, this Smith woman was nothing more than a gold-digging, old lady who had no idea about wands or Dementors or anything that could help him along the way. He'd nearly gagged when he came to the paragraph describing in detail the handsome features of a boy she'd met at some decrepit store called Borgin and Burkes.

Harry had stopped reading at that point, angry at himself and miffed at having lost precious sleep.

He really needed it at this point.

Harry sped up his steps, trying to get rid of the person following him through the corridors like a shadow.

"Oh come on Potter, don't be like that," someone called.

Harry's eyebrow twitched in annoyance, but he ignored the voice.

"I'm just trying to be friendly." Dolohov caught up with him, slightly out of breath. Thankfully, they were already reaching the potions' classroom.

Harry had dutifully attended breakfast, unable to escape the other boy's presence when he'd taken a seat right beside him; trying to make conversation and treating him as if they've known each other their entire lives. None of the other first years dared to do the same.

Dolohov suddenly touched Harry's arm.

"Potter, listen to just for a moment."

He instantly withdrew from the boy's touch, glaring at him for his presumptuous attitude.

"What?" he hissed, his patience gone. The other boy sighed, equally displeased.

"I know you don't really believe me," he said.

"You don't say," Harry jeered, looking at the taller student with something akin to disdain. Dolohov didn't seem to mind, though. If anything, Harry's obvious dislike seemed to make him more persistent.

"Okay okay. But listen" The other boy got serious, his gaze never wavering and seemingly piercing through Harry.

"We're stuck with each other for a long time, and I'm just trying to make this run as smoothly as possible."

"And it'd be fine, if you stopped bothering me!" Harry shot back.

"Really? And who will you talk to, Potter? Ghosts? Or do you enjoy being a loner in a school full of wizards and witches who detest you?"

"A bit dramatic, don't you think?"

"It's the truth," Dolohov stated. "You have no allies or people you can rely on. And I simply don't believe you'd let Karkaroff of all people play the role of your confidante."

Harry crossed his arms, unimpressed.

"Correct, but that doesn't mean I have to socialize with students who are secretly scheming behind my back and planning my demise at the hands of Voldemort."

"Don't _say_ his name! Dolohov hissed, his eyes furious.

"See, you're proving my point,_ friend," _said Harry. He paused, thinking. "I remember now...I've read about the Inner Circle and the rumors surrounding your lord's must trusted minions. The rest of your family wiggled themselves out of this mess, while your father is happily rotting away in Azkaban, isn't he?"

"You know _nothing_!" the other boy spat, balling his hands as if preparing for an attack. Harry enjoyed how easy it was to rile him up.

"I know enough."

Both boys were locked in staring contest and Harry was satisfied to see that he was able to get to the other student, shaking that composed pureblood mask for a moment. It was a bold move, but Harry was already bound to one person controlling his fate. He didn't need another "friend", especially a shady figure like the Dolohov heir.

He decided to enlighten the taller boy.

"Let's make this very clear. You attempts to befriend me or whatever serve one purpose and one purpose only." Harry said, determined to finish this conversation. "To gain your master's favor, should he ever return. And no. I'm not blind to the possibility, considering all the rumors about his immortality."

Dolohov stepped back, eyes widening in surprise.

"Why so shocked? You didn't truly think I'd stay ignorant, did you? Your precious lord's wellbeing or lack thereof matters to me, because my life is on the line. So I'm keeping tabs on that. And I'm not gonna walk to my death with you or anyone else holding my hand, pretending to like me only to stab me in the back at the right moment," Harry said. "So kindly fuck off!"

He then glanced over the boy's shoulders and inaudibly sighed in relief when he noticed the rest of the students approaching.

The door to the classroom opened and Professor Wilkes beckoned them inside.

"This conversation isn't over," Dolohov hissed in his ear, before passing him. Harry waved him off, unconcerned.

He took a seat at the back of the classroom, so he could keep an eye on everyone in case they had a thirst for revenge.

Thankfully, Dolohov took a seat at the front.

Harry had no real experience with some of the more complex curses or jinxes to protect himself. Thanks to Karkaroff's belated purchase, he'd only manage to practice stuff like the jelly-legs curse. But he'd at least be able to assess threats properly instead of turning his back and remaining completely vulnerable.

Students filled in and soon a wand tapped against the front desk. Wilkes greeted the first years with disinterest, his voice a monotonous sound.

The professor really didn't look like someone who had a teaching license or a desire to spend time with the students, but Harry dutifully started taking notes. This was his first class for students taking it in English, instead of the German potions class. Harry hoped he'd at least be able to learn another language before the end of his second year.

"I won't go into too much detail. Your task is to brew a simple cough solution." The man turned around and with a flick of his wand, instructions appeared on the board.

"Technically you should have no trouble with this task if you followed the simple explanation outlined in the introductory chapter. I will assess and outline your weaknesses at the end of the week, at which point you'll be properly divided." The students stared wide-eyed at the gruff-looking man.

"Now get moving. You have two hours." And with that the students were running off to get the ingredients. Harry decided to wait a little, frowning at some of the stuff written in his potions book. A couple of weeks ago he had taken the time to study the more obscure properties of some potions ingredients. His Muggle background didn't give him any knowledge on how Acromantula bones really looked like, and Harry didn't want to take his chances by relying on the labels.

When most of the students returned with their respective batch, he quickly made his way over to the cabinet, mindful of people who'd watch him. Thankfully, the first years were too busy and excited to pay him more attention than necessary, so Harry was able to get everything.

"Right, let's get this over with," Harry murmured, eyeing the vial with crocodile parts in interest.

Two hours later and he was just...done.

His hair was a mess and his fingers were stained. He barely managed to avoid an explosion, having put too much ginger roots into his cauldron before stirring clockwise. Some of his classmates were not so lucky. The fumes were getting to him and Wilkes was barking orders left and right. To Harry's surprise the man had simply nodded after passing him and taking a look at his first brewing attempt. So maybe his potion wasn't that bad.

Yeah, right.

He eyed the yellow color with dismay, knowing that it was supposed to be a thick, honey-colored syrup. Harry quickly snapped off another sprig of fennel, hoping that it would counterbalance the ginger. He carefully measured the amount and made quick calculations in his head that would increase the consistency. A trick Eileen had shown him, surprising Harry with her in-depth potions knowledge a couple of weeks ago.

Dropping the fennel, he watched curiously how the yellowish tint turned into a a darker color, coming closer to the honey, but still not as close as Harry would have liked. Unfortunately, Wilkes signaled the end of his first class and Harry waited until the others handed in their concoctions.

Wilkes gave him a sharp look when Harry stepped forward, but he didn't say a word and Harry quickly packed everything up and left, not wanting to be alone with this man. According to several old newspaper articles, the man possessed valuable Death Eater connections similar to the Dolohov family. And honestly, Harry wondered how Karkaroff could stand working and being surrounded by so many people who technically considered him a traitor and would gladly hand him over to the Dark Lord in revenge. It was another mystery Harry intended to solve.

He had another ten minutes before his Dark Arts Class and he needed to be on top for that one.

Casting a quick look over his shoulder, Harry made sure no one was following him, before leaving. He knew that Potions would most likely never be his favorite subject.

* * *

"Welcome to the Dark Arts," the professor called out, smiling at the students who were watching him attentively.

Harry sat at the back again, gazing at the man with veiled interest. It was the handsome professor from before, the one with the brown hair. He was clad in more casual, dark blue robes rather than the standard black the professors usually wore.

"I'm Professor Julian Lysander Moline and I'll be teaching you everything you need to know about the Dark Arts." He paused, his eyes fixed on a small boy somewhere to the left.

Harry barely had time to distinguish the movements properly, as Professor Moline pointed his wand in the boy's general direction. Without warning a note came flying forward and the man grabbed it from midair. The boy looked mortified, and several students began snickering at his misfortune.

"What's your name?" the professor asked calmly, his eyes now resting on the parchment. Harry looked over to see the boy ducking his head in embarrassment.

"Kristoff Petrenko, sir," the boy replied, timid.

"Well, Mr. Petrenko, as you surely know, I don't look kindly upon students who aren't willing to pay attention in my class." With a wave of the man's wand, the note was incinerated, and some students groaned in disappointment, having geared themselves up for more humiliating acts to witness.

"Detention with me this friday evening at six. Meet me in my office." And with that the professor continued his lecture, his earlier cheerful demeanor replaced with more stoicism. Harry remembered Muggle school and couldn't help but compare the man's attitude to his Muggle teachers who had been prone to punish people more severely, mocking children whenever they got caught. Dudley often got the brunt of a teacher's anger. As for wizarding schools, Harry liked to think his potions teacher would have done the same.

"As I mentioned earlier, you will be studying the Dark Arts, and if you manage to give me satisfactory results at the end of the week, you'll be allowed to attend the advanced classes with me."

Professor Moline stepped forward, arms behind his back now and his wand hidden.

"Now please take a look around and notice the various portraits I've hanged up."

Harry had noticed them earlier. Portraits depicted vivid images of torture, death and what he guessed were dark creatures fighting against each other. The classroom didn't provide much sources of light, the blue curtains also not making much room for sunlight. He guessed the professor was deliberately creating a more gloomy atmosphere, and the moving pictures of decapitated bodies really just added to it.

Harry turned away from the sickening view of a ghoul eating someone's flesh and carefully assessed the reactions of his classmates. He wasn't surprised. Various students looked at the portraits as if they've seen stuff like that before. Some people were unimpressed and others barely even blinked. Then there were also the kind of people that reacted as any child would. Harry tapped his finger against his desk, feeling agitated. Frankly speaking, he thought it a bit drastic to show these kind of images. It didn't speak well of the families who were raising the kids who didn't react much. He himself wasn't accustomed to this kind of gore, except fake stuff from the telly. Uncle Vernon used to fall asleep during horror movies (and wasn't that just odd) and Harry sometimes had to turn it off in order to get some sleep in his cupboard. He'd been unable to look away a couple of times.

By now he knew that he really hadn't been raised by anyone, so his limits or his regard for rules were basically nonexistent. That didn't mean it was right, though.

And Harry knew that. It was some kind of backwards sense of morality that often told him what was okay and what was not.

And this class was already toeing the line of moral and responsible behavior. His professor caught Harry's frown, holding his gaze for another moment, before continuing with his speech.

"As you see, the Dark Arts encompass pain, death, destruction but also _a sense of power. _Practicing the Dark Arts meets acknowledging that part of you that acts against your inherent, righteousness and goodwill. You accept that part of your humanity that naturally causes harm, that seeks to control, ensnare and punish those who have wronged you. The Dark Arts are a tool of self-preservation and aggression and the type of magic that reveals your _innermost desires_. It's the most honest branch of magic you will ever encounter and mastering it means mastering yourself," Moline finished, voice grave and passionate.

Harry had read a couple of introductory passages to the Dark Arts, but this remark put a different spin on things.

Most of the students were looking riveted by the man, vibrating with excitement and smugness.

"Control is the key to the Dark Arts." Moline was now leaning back against his desk. "Without control, the magic you practice might consume you. You lose yourself to the most basic instincts in this world, becoming nothing more than a vengeful excuse of a human. Losing yourself to your nature makes you less than who you are, less than an animal. If you don't control the Dark Arts, it will control you."

Harry's scar was staring to pulse, giving him a small headache, but he tried to ignore it.

Professor Moline continued smoothly.

"I'm afraid most of you will never be able to completely master the arts, as the risks are simply too high for most wizards. Not many adults can accomplish this feat and it usually takes years of training before we can even attempt the more complex magic."

A student raised her hand at this.

"Yes, Ms. - ?" Moline prompted, smiling again.

"Schneider, Danielle Schneider," the blonde girl with pigtails replied and Harry recognized her from before, having seen her in the Great Hall.

"I was just wondering...what's the point in learning this type of magic then?" Some others sneered at that, but Moline answered patiently.

"I assume you don't see the logic behind studying something you might not control, correct?"

She nodded and Harry could take a guess. It was quite obvious.

"Even if you don't become a master, recognizing what you're dealing with and experimenting with your affinity for magic can prepare you for life. As I said before, the Dark Arts reveal what you want or don't want to be. Denying yourself something, which is simply another part of human nature is like living a lie. And we can all agree that being honest with yourself is preferable to being a bigot."

The girl nodded, eyes shining in delight.

Harry was loath to admit that the professor really knew what he was talking about. But something was bothering him. However, he didn't manage to ask, because suddenly the man withdrew his wand and instructions appeared on the board.

"Today, I want you to stretch your magic. Whether you had practice using dark arts spells or not-" here Moline winked at Dolohov and Harry's lips tightened marginally.

"We will start with something simple. The Reductor Curse is a curse that we use to blast solid objects into pieces. Almost all wizards use it, but obviously you can imagine what would happen if you ever attempted to use that curse on a creature or a human," Moline smirked sardonically and for the first time Harry caught a glimpse of sadistic pleasure in the man's eyes, brief as it was.

Harry had read about this curse in one of the introductory books, but didn't have the time to practice it yet.

"You'll use dummies as target." The professor waved his wand in a complicated arc and twenty something mannequins appeared out of nowhere, while the students scrambled away as desks and chairs were pushed aside.

"Take as much time as you need and make sure not to point your wand at any other students." Some boys smirked at that and Harry was glad to see that this class was another one where he wouldn't need a partner. It was quite dangerous, though. He didn't want to think what would happen if one idiot decided to blow Harry to pieces.

Harry grabbed his wand and read the instructions carefully.

He was so engrossed with the explanation on correct hand movements, he didn't notice the way Moline was now gazing at him.

* * *

If potions were a nightmare, Dark Arts was another thing altogether.

Harry felt drained.

And not just because he'd blasted his self-repairing dummy to pieces over and over again.

His wand was giving him trouble.

More than it should.

Sweat was gathering on his forehead and his headache was now a persistent companion.

His creepy Dementor wand was acting exactly like a Dementor usually would. Every time Harry cast the spell, the wand would suck his magic right out of him, giving the spell more power than it should. None of the easier stuff he'd done yesterday ever felt like that. That's also why he felt so drained now. At some point, Moline had come over, suggesting that he should use less force and Harry had given him a look, telling him how much he appreciated the man's impressive deduction.

Meaning, not at all.

Thankfully, the professor left him alone then, taking care of many others who were struggling visibly. Unfortunately, Harry's constant magical explosions attracted too much attention and he felt more than one pair of eyes watching him nervously.

Thankfully the class ended soon and Harry couldn't wait to return to his dorm. He needed to lie down.

"Mr. Potter, may I have a word with you in private?" Moline asked suddenly, and a couple of students who were still packing their things, looked up. Harry smiled politely, internally cursing the man for drawing even more attention to him. Dolohov shot him a curious look before leaving, but Harry pretended not to notice.

When the last student left, Harry made his way over to the man, hoping that they wouldn't discuss his wand or what he was doing at this school in the first place.

"Please take a seat, Mr. Potter," and Harry did as told.

Harry stared at him blankly.

The man's eyes were roving over Harry's features. But eventually, the professor broke the silence.

"How are you settling in at Durmstrang?" he asked.

Harry hesitated, not quite sure where this was going.

"Quite well, thank you," he hedged, giving a noncommittal reply. if Moline wanted to know more about Karkaroff's involvement, Harry decided he'd leave all answers to his headmaster.

"Good, good. I'm happy to know." The professor gave him a small smile, lips twitching slightly. Harry wasn't fooled.

"I was worried when news broke of your permanent stay at this school." The older wizard leaned forward, crossing his hands before continuing. "Obviously, your status and position in the current, political climate is unique. And given how secretive the headmaster is, I'm afraid you'll encounter more trouble from your peers." Harry instantly knew where this was going the moment the last words left the man's lips. He smiled in return.

"No trouble so far, Professor. Headmaster Karkaroff guaranteed my safety, as you should know."

"Should I?" the man's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Within reason, of course, Harry said.

"Oh, do tell, Mr. Potter." Moline smirked.

"Well, as my professor I assumed it's your duty to take care of your student's needs." Harry gave him a pointed look and got another smile in return. "Since it's the headmaster who supervises my stay here, you're obviously bound to his final say in the matter, which means I have nothing to worry about as long as Professor Karkaroff takes my safety seriously. Beyond that, I obviously can't give you more information."

"Hm." Moline assessed him carefully.

"And what makes you think Headmaster Karkaroff's main concern is your safety?" he finally asked.

"Are you accusing him of something, sir?" Harry replied, surprised that the man would be so bold.

"Maybe," Moline left his seat abruptly and calmly walked forward, delicate hands gliding over Harry's armrest, before disappearing from sight.

The younger wizard really didn't appreciate the blatant act of dominance, refusing to turn around. He had a sudden urge to rub his scar furiously. This conversation was pointless in his opinion, although it did reveal an obvious dislike the professor held for the headmaster. Now Harry only needed to figure out whether it was because of the man's traitor status or something else. Maybe Moline was some right-hand man to the Dark Lord. Merlin knows, this place was swarming with Death Eater family members.

The professor returned and carelessly threw today's Daily Prophet on the desk. Harry didn't pick it up yet, having no reason to do so as long as the man didn't say anything.

"Everyone here at the school including the students can take a well-educated guess as to why Headmaster Karkaroff took you in," Moline began, still standing right behind Harry.

"And while the circumstances are less than clear, it's true that I'm bound to take care of you, having decided to return to the school instead of leaving." Harry could feel the man's breath on his neck. Seriously, what was wrong with the guy?

"I'm also bound to keep your presence a secret from the general public, as Karkaroff confirmed. You can imagine how many people are frustrated with that...? Knowing the Boy-Everyone-Is-Looking-For is currently residing at Durmstrang but we're unable to tell anyone. Not even our families and certain...associates."

Harry was tired of this game.

"If you're so desperate to run to your half-deceased lord, by all means, do it!" Harry snapped.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he could've hit himself.

That was stupid and he really didn't fancy getting a detention.

To his surprise, Moline broke out in laughter, before returning to his seat, still chuckling. His eyes were alight in amusement.

"My Lord? Potter, I'm sorry to say this but if you're speaking of the Dark Lord, I'm afraid he's not in any way associated with me. Or I with him."

Harry gaped, unable to stifle his reaction.

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" he asked, incredulous.

"Believe what you will, but my dealings with the headmaster don't reflect on my loyalties. But let's get to the point," Moline explained, expression turning serious.

"We're all aware that Karkaroff lives on borrowed time and the only thing protecting him is this castle and the Norwegian school board, who were never allies of the Dark Lord and certainly appreciated his demise."

That was news to Harry. He listened carefully, wondering what the man was getting at.

"It also means that you're nothing more than a weapon, a carefully crafted sword and potential bargain, should the Dark Lord return. And I think you know that," Moline concluded, watching Harry's expression.

Harry remained silent, neither confirming nor denying anything. The wizard didn't need Harry's assurances, though.

"I agree with him on one thing. And that is training. Do the best you can, Mr. Potter. And I'll help you to the best of my abilities," the man assured him.

Now Harry was alarmed.

"And what do you get out of it?" the boy asked instead, instantly suspicious.

"An opportunity to witness certain changes that needed to be made right from the start," the man answered cryptically.

Harry didn't understand it at all. What changes?

Moline smiled again.

"You have potential. I noticed it as soon as I met you. It was surprising, to be honest. Considering who you are..." he mused.

Harry didn't want to comment on that and he didn't think the man would use flattery just to get something out of him. It wasn't a very subtle attempt at manipulation.

"Now if you would take a look at page 3 of today's issue," the man gestured at the newspaper in front of him.

The younger wizard had no choice but to comply and he carefully scanned the main article Moline was referring to, taking some time to process the information.

He missed lunch already. Hopefully he'd make it on time for his next class.

After a couple of minutes, Harry looked up again, genuinely curious after having read the article.

"Tragic, isn't it?" Moline asked.

"I suppose."

Tragic wasn't really covering it, Harry thought.

The man nodded in return, before explaining further. "The Longbottom family is an old pureblood, light wizarding family. Neville's parents were resistance fighters against the Dark Lord and it's not surprising the boy has become another target. They were quite prominent."

Harry frowned, considering this.

"The boy was taken from his grandmother's residence. They haven't figured out what happened yet?" he asked, unsure.

"No, the boy's disappearance is a mystery," Moline explained. "The wizarding world is now frantically looking for the both of you, but I'm certain Neville's circumstances are more dramatic."

"And how do you-?"

Moline interrupted, holding up his hand.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter. What do you know about prophecies?"

* * *

Filipp Dolohov wouldn't admit it, but he was sulking. He didn't bother talking to his classmates during lunch break. The free spot at the end of the table was already fueling speculations and rumors. He'd caught some of the snippets of conversation around him.

Danielle was currently raving about Potter's power and how he was destined to fight along the Dark side. Others were less impressed, thinking the boy only wanted to show off.

As always, the truth was somewhere else.

Potter was a mystery.

That he could admit.

When he'd first found out that he would be sharing dorms with none other than the Boy-Who-Lived, Filipp had laughed endlessly.

Oh, he'd been certain it would be a piece of cake to evade that pesky secrecy vow he'd signed with his acceptance letter. But so far, no luck.

His father would be ashamed.

When he'd met Harry Potter, things turned out to be more surprising than he at first thought. Because Potter wasn't really how he expected him to be.

The boy was withdrawn, anti-soclal and a certain sense of melancholy was always covering the boy like a protective shield. Filipp had been observant, hoping to find out more, but the small kid with the round glasses who defeated the darkest wizard of all time never grew enraged, never talked more than necessary.

It was difficult to get more out of him than general apathy.

Then he'd shown briefly just what lay dormant behind the facade when Potter told him to mind his own business.

There was a fire, a need to prove his strength in those unnatural, green eyes.

It wasn't surprising, considering his circumstances and the fact that he was surrounded by people who were essentially his enemies.

Potter's lack of idealistic, moral integrity however was unexpected. The young wizard had a plethora of Dark Arts books in his possession and didn't seem bothered at all by it, filling his mind with gruesome knowledge of torture and murder. His bookcase looked like a portable library.

And even more astonishing was the fact that he also collected whatever Light magic books he could get his hands on.

Dolohov didn't bother sharing that particular detail with the gossiping crowd, but he wondered just what truly went on in the hero's mind. Fact was Potter behaved rather open-minded about certain information and didn't reject knowledge of any kind.

As intelligent as Potter appeared to be in some areas, he was also incredibly unaware about other things, borderline foolish. Filipp didn't know much about Potter's background, but the boy stank of Muggle upbringing.

Social hierarchies were disregarded and even authority figures didn't seem to impress him.

Well, no one was impressed by Karkaroff, but that was another thing that wasn't adding up. The young wizard shouldn't be that docile or subservient to the headmaster. And while Filipp could understand that the man had somehow sunken his filthy claws into Potter, holding something over his head, Potter's behavior was strange.

But could it be that Potter was simply humoring the man, bidding his time.

For what, though? And how would Potter deal with the attention for the next seven years if at some point his presence here was bound to be discovered by the public?

And more importantly, how would the Dark Lord react?

Dolohov made up his mind. He'd keep his distance, but continue acting friendly toward his roommate, gathering information while avoiding the knowing looks Karkaroff gave him.

It was such a messed up situation.

* * *

Peter Pettigrew was staring at the remaining bits and pieces of Neville Longbottom.

The boy's carcass was a revolting sight, empty eye sockets and twisted limbs presenting the finishing touches. The body would start smelling soon.

He was also absolutely _terrified of the man_, the...being in front of him.

Another imposing figure was currently kneeling on the ground, kissing the hem of the taller man's robes. They were in the middle of nowhere and the inhabitants of the Albanian forest were unnaturally silent.

Lucius Malfoy handed over a small book and pale fingers touched the cover reverently, nails scratching over its leather surface.

The Dark Lord was finally back, having taken on a more humanoid form with the help of the ritual.

No words were exchanged and Peter swallowed nervously. He also felt the distortion in the air, as several hooded figures appeared.

Hopefully, he'd live to see another day.


	4. The Red Tale of a Prince

**DISCLAIMER:** The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

Note: I'd like to thank you for your enthusiastic reviews and questions. :) Also thanks again for favoriting/following and giving me more general feedback. Much appreciated.

* * *

**Chapter 4: The Red Tale of a Prince**

Harry listened to the sound of raindrops as they repeatedly hit the window pane. Delicate fingers were gliding over the surface and green eyes observed hidden patterns of countless streaks. These patterns looked vaguely like prison bars.

He was currently alone in the dormitory, enjoying the blissful silence for once.

A stormy weather marked his third day into the term and he'd endured another session of boring or slightly disturbing classes. The rain created a soothing effect, though, easing his temper and virulent desires.

Thankfully, his lovely roommate was currently busy making social calls with certain elite pureblood brats and wouldn't be back for another hour or so, leaving Harry to his dark thoughts.

To be honest, he felt somewhat lost.

If someone told him several months ago, he'd be practicing magic and donning the role of a reluctant, national hero, he would have sent them straight to St. Brutus himself.

And wasn't that just the irony of his life?

He tried to escape his miserable, meaningless fate only land himself in an even more violent situation with even less control.

The conversation with the illustrious Dark Arts professor haunted him.

Moline's words were a mockery, the revelation destroying Harry's secret hopes and visions of a better future.

Of course, he hadn't known much about prophecies, although countless books in Durmstrang's library had referred to vague concepts about seers and their ability to accurately describe the future.

Harry wasn't interested in predestined accounts, though. He had skipped the theories about prophecy orbs and how to bottle fate, dismissing some of the more colorful descriptions of a seer's amazing skills.

The fact that a prophecy involving Voldemort and himself even existed, shouldn't have surprised him at all.

It was still revolting, though.

And Harry wouldn't admit it, but he'd been stunned when Moline had explained offhandedly how the Dark Lord immediately acted on it as soon as he got wind of someone destined to defeat him. That was a clear case of paranoia for Harry and it revealed a weakness that should've been easy to exploit.

Then the Dark Lord had gotten himself killed.

Harry could perceive a sense of justice in that, because it reminded him to be more cautious; that rushing into something without rational explanations could only end in death.

To be honest, this mistake on Voldemort's part humanized him to some degree, putting the megalomaniac down on the level of mere mortals such as Harry.

So it was with a feeling of dread and satisfaction that Harry accepted this riveting story about two star-crossed enemies.

It still meant that there was no escape.

No means of bowing out and telling the wizarding world to go screw themselves.

Moline admitted that only Voldemort, some of his closest Death Eaters and Dumbledore truly knew about the prophecy and when asked how he'd come upon the knowledge, the professor had disregarded Harry's scrutiny.

Again.

The newest development was causing another problem.

He turned away from the window and let his eyes dance through the room, bypassing his desk where another mountain of books on topics like divination was awaiting him. Instead he made his way over to the nightstand and picked up his wand.

The reaction was instantaneous.

The wood grew hot in his palm and that feeling of having something sucked out of him returned with a vengeance.

It had gotten worse over the last three days.

Harry assumed it was most likely a side-effect of his constant use of magic in class. Unfortunately, he couldn't really approach the headmaster about it. The man would surely fish for more information that the younger wizard simply couldn't reveal. And that inaction unfortunately closed the doors for another visit to Morocco or Germany.

Harry hadn't had much time reading Hepzibah's book, but maybe he should give it another chance. He put the wand away, relieved when the energy that temporarily sapped him of his strength, came rushing back.

It was now clear that he'd have to do something about this, because he couldn't imagine casting magic and ending up like a weakling every single time. It also bothered him that no students experienced similar problems.

His lips formed into a thin line, displeasure evident in his expression. Harry sat down on his bed.

The others have started gossiping again, and while it wouldn't annoy him too much, the controversy has spilled over to the teachers, most of whom regarded him as a bug ready to get squashed. And that was a huge problem. On top of struggling with a temperamental wand, he would need to watch out for people who could harm him under the pretense of a teacher's concern.

He balled his fists, imagining all the ways an authority figure could abuse his position of power right under Karkaroff's nose.

"Are you alright?" someone called, and Harry flinched.

He eyed the newcomer and groaned when Eileen once again floated over to him.

"Didn't I tell you not to do that?" he grumbled, crossing his arms.

The ghost smirked and reached out to ruffle Harry's hair. Harry couldn't exactly slap her hand away, but the sensation was still unwelcome.

"Do what?" she asked, somewhat affectionate as she glanced at the stiff form of the young Potter heir.

"Nevermind," he huffed.

Harry considered her for a moment, his thoughts on the problem he had contemplated earlier. Perhaps she knew something.

He decided to ask.

"Do you know whether there's a possibility to leave the castle without triggering the wards?"

Eileen's movements stilled, but she caught on.

"Not that I'm aware of," She hesitated. "Karkaroff was very careful about the details concerning you. Any movement on your part is monitored carefully. He'd know instantly if you left," she said and paused, thinking.

"I'm honestly surprised you're asking about it now," she admitted, cocking her head to the side. Harry could understand her confusion, though.

"Well, I didn't have much of reason to leave earlier, but this is kind of important, I guess." He shrugged.

Eileen's eyes landed on his wand and something seemed to shift in her warm look, something that Harry would call dark satisfaction. And that wasn't making any sense, but it raised his alarm bells nonetheless.

"This is about your lack of control, correct?" she demanded suddenly and Harry leaned back against the headboard, not really questioning how she knew about that. The dead witch seemed extremely perceptive when she wasn't trying to act like a cheerful, quivering mess of excitement.

He nodded instead, confirming her thoughts. It wouldn't give him anything except a headache, while trying to hide the information from her.

"You want more answers from the people who gave you this wand and I think it's a good incentive to leave," she began. "Honestly, I think they expect you anyway. Didn't one of the wandmakers gave you a book to study?" she asked.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Eh-, well, they did, but it didn't really help," he admitted.

"Hm, you should've been given more information, but I guess Karkaroff's presence was bothering them." She sat down on the bed, legs passing through the bedsheets.

"Maybe there's a way to leave without anyone noticing," Eileen whispered.

"Oh, now you're saying that?"

"I can't exactly talk about this freely, Harry. This castle has eyes and ears everywhere," she shot back, annoyed.

"We're safe here. I've used a runic inscription to cast a permanent, privacy ward on my side of the room." Harry rolled his eyes, when she stared at him in astonishment.

"That's terribly advanced for a first year like you who's only now started to practice." She was skeptical, wondering where such a rune could be found. Harry didn't bother telling her about the dubious source he had used.

"I'm not a dunderhead, you know. With people watching my every move, it's necessary to take precaution," he explained, eyes flashing. "And just so you know. That piece of magic nearly made me pass out, because that stupid wand is practically _draining_ me." He stressed the last part deliberately, wanting to get his point across.

"I see."

The ghost flew over to Harry's bookcase, and she pointed at one of the book titles.

"It's still astonishing to cast wards like that, but I suggest you don't practice any advanced magic unless you want to turn into a squib."

Harry looked over at the section where he'd amassed books on magical cores, thanks to Karkaroff's generous donations. He slowly stood, wincing at the slight pain in his hand. No doubt the wand was leaving more noticeable traces on him. And yes, turning into that after having gotten a taste of his heritage would be a crappy deal, even for him.

"I wasn't planning on doing more. Unless I sort this out, I doubt I even get into some of the more advanced classes," Harry said, bitterness welling up inside him. He enjoyed getting to know his limits and testing the boundaries of this world. He'd never had that with the Muggles.

"Then you'll have to get in contact with the wandmaker as soon as possible," Eileen said. "Karkaroff is pushing you to become strong enough to help him out and you'll have to prove yourself in some way or another if you want to keep your cover here."

"You told me to become stronger as well," Harry said pointedly. She smiled in return.

"Yes but for your own good. To control your own fate."

"And what's my fate, then?"

"Whatever you want. It's not my place to decide for you. Last time I checked, I'm not the headmaster," she argued, still smiling. Harry sighed, scratching the back of his neck, before checking the book title Eileen had pointed out for him.

"True. You're more like an annoying, meddlesome aunt who's only capable of talking in riddles."

"I'm flattered."

And now she was full-on smirking.

"Yeah, right," Harry said, smiling falsely in return.

He reached out for the book. _A Study of Magical Core Duplication and Transfusion._

_"_And that is supposed to help me out?" He frowned. "Didn't you tell me I shouldn't practice advanced magic? Hell, that kind of stuff is beyond school level."

The tome was heavy in his hands. He vaguely remembered reading a couple of chapters on how manifest your magical core and infuse part of your magic into something else. He'd only understood about 5 percent of what the author was talking about.

"True, but today is your lucky day. I consider myself an expert on magical transfusion," Eileen bragged, tilting her head up in a parody of someone important.

"You're a Potions expert," he said drily, not exactly amused. Eileen attempted to shove him playfully, her bony hands passing through Harry's body. She eyed his stillness in disappointment.

"I would be a fool to rely on one branch of magic, Harry. There were several things I wanted to study. I wasn't lacking in ambition," she explained, turning serious. He detected the shift in conversation and nodded, accepting her words. He was the same, after all.

In his case ambition was more of a matter of survival, though. And -to a lesser extent- the wish to discover more about himself, how far he could go without other people holding him back.

"But that kind of magic takes months to study. I can't just cast the spell and all my problems are solved."

"Technically, not. But there are certain shortcuts in magical transfusion. Ways to direct small parts of your magic into something without complications," Eileen explained, eyes narrowing in contemplation.

"The idea is to fool the school's wards into thinking you're there when you're really not. Usually there are several ways to go about it, but it's very dark magic and it takes years to completely duplicate an entire magical core for a couple of hours. But that's not exactly what we need in your case," she went on and Harry wondered, how he could pull that off.

"In a way, you could simply add a mere fraction of your magic to something, and it would be enough, because the rest of you is not there."

Harry was confused.

"But when I'm casting a spell, let's say transfiguring an object. Isn't that the same? I mean, I force my magic to turn an object into something else." He was really curious about that theory.

"And your magic is only changing the molecular structure of the thing you're transfiguring. You aren't transfusing part of yourself into something else. Your conscious presence doesn't exist within the object or even the animal, unless you use are an animagus or bother to transfigure parts of yourself. Your magical essence isn't lingering on the object, but forcing said object to change an already existing essence. However, with this study it's like... Muggle blood donation with magical transfusion. You give away something of yourself permanently," she ended and Harry gaped.

That made sense. It also sounded extremely complicated and Harry was certain he'd never succeed doing something like that.

She caught his expression, and smiled gently.

"As I said before, you can fool wards with just one small part of yourself. And giving up that part wouldn't even matter, as long as you disappear at exactly the same time the part detaches from your magical core. In fact, you need another wizard or witch to oversee the process, because your magical energy also needs to return to you at the same moment you come back. That's how you can fool Durmstrang's wards into thinking you've never been gone. And I know how to help you out with that," she explained. Harry licked his lips, anticipation filling him.

"So when can we start? I mean if you're sure that method works, and I don't pass out or something..." he trailed off, putting the book back. Eileen scrunched up her nose.

"There's a small problem," she said.

"Of course!" Harry rolled his eyes. Things were never that simple. She looked at him somewhat uneasily.

"I'm a ghost," she said.

"No shit, Sherlock."

Eileen stared, a bit confused, but went on.

"Ghosts don't possess any magic of their own," she explained and Harry could've smacked himself.

"So that means you can't oversee the transfusion," he added.

"Exactly. I mean I can explain what to do, but you need another magical anchor that makes sure the transfusion runs smoothly and that you disappear at the correct time when the small part of yours detaches from your core," Eileen said and Harry knew what that meant.

"No."

"But Harry, there's really no other way that works better in your case," she exclaimed, waving her hands.

"No, I won't bring someone else into this."

"Harry-"

"The entire point is that I work out what's wrong with my wand. I'm not supposed to talk about the wand and that kind of makes sense, considering the stuff I read about certain properties. And there's not a single soul in this school I can trust. No one who wouldn't immediately ask questions," he hissed, frustrated.

"You don't have to tell them why you're disappearing," she pointed out and Harry carded his fingers through his hair, pacing back and forth.

"No, I really don't. But one mystery leads to another and I would have someone else butting in and trying to figure it out for themselves. Besides, most people would expect something in return for their help," Harry said, unconvinced.

"Not Julian!" the ghost murmured.

Harry stared.

"As in Julian...Moline? Professor creepy-Dark Arts-pedophile Moline?" Harry uttered, shocked.

"Pedo-? Harry, what the hell?" Eileen exclaimed, gaping at him.

"Well, the guy is about as trustworthy as Karkaroff or Dolohov Junior. And," Harry breathed heavily. "he was kind of odd around me."

"Was he now?" she mumbled, stroking her chin in thought. Her eyes met his green ones and she nodded, seemingly to herself.

"He's trustworthy, Harry. You can believe me," she said, eventually.

"I can barely trust you."

The words seemed to have the desired effect, because the ghost flinched and retreated. Harry couldn't really regret it, though. It was the truth after all, even if the witch was generally likable.

She found her composure, shaking off the uncomfortable silence that had descended between them.

"I don't really know what happened in your life to make you so...paranoid." Harry was about to protest, but she held up her hand.

"But I can understand it, Harry." He noticed the way she used his name whenever she felt like suggesting more closeness and familiarity between them.

"Your position is dangerous and it'd be foolish to walk around with your heart on your sleeve."

Harry didn't want to confirm it, but he agreed. Of course, he agreed. It was stupid to befriend people who saw you as nothing more than a celebrity or cannon fodder for their own desires and ambitions. And he had no delusions about the ghost's willingness to help him.

Kindness came with a price, after all. Eileen Prince wasn't much different from other people Harry had met before, ghostly existence aside.

She turned around, eyes piercing through him.

"But you can take my word for it. Professor Moline will look out for you. In the same way he looked out for me. He's not a Death Eater or whatever you want to believe," she told Harry.

"Look out for you?" Harry asked, curious. Eileen had never told him much about herself, and he could guess she'd try to convince him now with something more personal.

The ghost sighed, her thin frame appearing even smaller in the darkened room.

"I was murdered, Harry."

The black-haired youth didn't say anything to that, but surprise broke through him anyway. That wasn't what he had expected. A bitter smile graced Eileen's sullen features.

"In fact, I was murdered here at Durmstrang at the time when my teaching assistance began to bother some people."

"You taught Potions, right?" Harry asked, uncomfortable with the topic.

"Indeed, and it was one of the more memorable times of my life." She paused again. "You see, I was married to a Muggle and -as was the norm- disowned by my family after my marriage. The disgrace of the Prince family they liked to call me."

Harry still thought the whole Pureblood propaganda was worthless, so it was shocking to hear how far people would go for it. To justify their own sick beliefs, because they were so ignorant...

He was thoroughly disgusted with them. It proved once again that wizards were just as human as the Muggles they so despised.

Eileen didn't seem to notice the way Harry's eyes darkened in fury. She continued.

"At that time, Julian was an aspiring and eager student of mine, with a prestigious background and full of plans and hopes to become a Potions Master."

"But he's the Dark Arts teacher," Harry added unnecessarily.

"It's not his preferred teaching profession. But his close association with me gave him more problems. He couldn't do much about it, though. Not until Karkaroff became headmaster, at which point he returned safely," she said.

"When the Dark Lord rose to power, waging his first war and all that came with it, he was recruiting many people and usually ensnared the wizards who used their talents to support the Dark. Julian refused and I fell out of favor because of my association to my husband. I wasn't welcome here anyway." Eileen's features were twisted in sudden anger. Harry had never seen her like that in the months that he'd known her.

"As a woman and a blood traitor, talent didn't seem to matter anymore. My teaching position was nothing more than a poor excuse to keep the shunned Prince girl in line with the Dark. My student however planned to leave and eventually managed to escape the Dark Lord's notice. He used to look out for me when others gave me trouble. When he left, driven by the Dark Lord's pursuit of his talents, I had no more allies in this castle. And Karkaroff's predecessor murdered me here at the school, when I refused to leave my husband. Julian still blames himself for my choices, that foolish boy."

Eileen gazed at him, seeing through him. And she really looked her age at that moment. Almost ancient.

Harry tried to take it all in. The murderous ways in which dark wizards persecuted their own kind, all that senseless violence. It strengthened his belief that something really needed to change.

"I see," he eventually whispered.

"There's nothing you need to commit to, Harry. I simply hope that you try to see dark wizards as more than a monolithic group of people with the same beliefs," Eileen said, determined.

"Take your time, but eventually you have to sort out your wand problem. And two people, with one dead, are not enough for that."

With that, she cast Harry another sorrowful look, before leaving.

Harry stumbled over to his bed, his thoughts swirling with promises and new information. His wand was still lying innocently on the nightstand.

* * *

Something wasn't adding up, Harry thought. He quickly approached one of the bigger rooms where an excited group of students was already gathered, slithering around like snakes and generally making a nuisance of themselves.

Dolohov had barged into their room earlier, claiming that the headmaster had news for the students, something to do with advanced classes. Harry's presence was required.

But the dark-haired wizard was thinking about Moline and his refusal to deal with the Dark Lord. If that was true, and he believed Eileen's story, then how come Moline knew about the prophecy?

How come this wizard knew about something that not many people were privy to? Was he an ex-dark wizard turned light? A spy for Dumbledore, perhaps?

He'd have to force another confrontation with the man, if he wanted to sort this out.

Half an hour later, Harry knew that this confrontation would need to happen sooner rather than later when Karkaroff announced they would test the students at the end of the week. Harry really didn't want to draw more attention to his uncontrollable wand. Merlin knows what this thing would do in the tests. His hand was twitching in discomfort.

With dejection Harry climbed the stairs to one of the deserted corridors he used whenever he wanted to get away from the students. And found it occupied.

A tall, dark-haired boy was firing spells in rapid succession at an invisible target, impressing Harry with the sheer speed and power behind the spells.

The wizard was also on guard, because he immediately turned around, meeting Harry's eyes.

Harry wanted to apologize and leave, but the stern-looking boy instantly shuffled over to him. For a second, the smaller boy thought he would get attacked, but a handshake was apparently the only thing the boy wanted.

"Viktor Krum." The student introduced himself and Harry was confused at the way the hesitant smile temporarily softened Krum's sharp features.

"Harry Potter, nice to meet you," he replied, shaking the strong, calloused hand.

"I hav vanted to talk to you for some time, Harry Potter," the boy with the sallow skin and thick eyebrows suggested. _  
_

"So you've been following me around and eventually found my secret spot?" Harry shot back, amused. He couldn't really describe why, but the other wizard didn't give of the same feeling that many other students here did.

"Something like that," Krum murmured, a bit embarrassed. Honestly, it was like watching a giant threatening grizzly turning into a teddybear.

Harry blinked, not quite sure what to say now.

"There are rumors, about you. I don't believ half of them," Viktor stated.

"Let me guess, the next Dark Lord maybe? Or an assassin employed by the headmaster to kill all students who support He-Who-Is-A-Giant-Dead-Dick"

Krum chuckled at that, the raspy quality of his voice at odds with the the happiness Harry could detect.

"You are very bold," he told him, and Harry gasped, mock-offended.

"Am I? Well, next time I try for the more timid, reluctant hero-version," Harry said and Krum's smile grew bigger.

"Please do that. I'm sure the others vill appreciate it more," the boy replied, before his eyes bored into Harry, suddenly very serious.

"Your arrival is not vat people expected. Is Headmaster Karkaroff treating you right?" Harry who had been more relaxed, caught the boy's look and grew suspicious again. He felt odd, knowing that he'd let his guard down so easily around him.

"It's okay. I'm here on my own terms," Harry explained, words chosen carefully. Krum stared at him in doubt.

"Are you? Many people think you are his veapon." Harry grew alarmed, remembering where they were. Grasping the boy's arm tightly, he pulled him away and in the direction of Harry's room. He had a feeling that this conversation would be interesting. Hopefully he'd manage to kick Dolohov out.

* * *

Lucius Malfoy prided himself on his ability to adjust to dire circumstances. Therefore it was a hit to his pride knowing that from now on he would have to give the reins over to someone else.

Again.

It's been years since the last time.

And he'd grown comfortable in his position, enjoying the life of a wizard at the top. Now he was a pitiful slave, albeit one that still believed in the cause of his master.

They were currently located at one of the Dark Lord's secret bases and one that hasn't been used in years. The dusty and cold rooms would make him ill sooner or later.

But he was here for a purpose.

The cowering form of Peter Pettigrew greeted him at the threshold to the Dark Lord's study, but he didn't pay any attention to the rat.

The tantalizing magic that filled the room and crawled up his spine, made the Malfoy patriarch shudder involuntarily. It beckoned him to come closer, to get lost in its feeling. But a powerful threat always accompanied the sensation and it reminded him that his Lord's seduction was of political nature. Not a personal one.

It reminded him that he was a tool and not on equal ground with the man. And how foolish it was to think of the Dark Lord as a mere mortal.

Lucius was an insignificant speck of dust compared to him.

Sometimes it angered him more than he'd like to admit, but envy was unbecoming of a Malfoy and he would fulfill his duties to the best of his abilities.

As he always had.

If he was destined to be insignificant, then at least he wanted to be on the right side for it, the more significant one. With renewed vigor, he straightened himself, but before he could announce his presence, the Dark Lord's door opened.

"Come, Lucius," the deceptively soft voice called out and the Blonde obeyed, feeling stupid for losing himself in his thoughts so easily.

He didn't dare raise his head, fearful of the man's gaze, but he crossed the room, bowing low in greeting. His meager Occlumency shields were raised to full power, but Lucius couldn't hope to keep his thoughts hidden away from the older wizard.

Incriminating memories could mean instant death.

He caught the distinctive sound of a quill scratching against parchment and he looked up further, noticing how the man busied himself writing something down, occasionally turning his head to gaze at another report. He wasn't paying Lucius any attention.

But that voice cut through the oppressive silence anyway.

"I assume you have returned with the file," the Dark Lord said, sharp, demanding. It wasn't a question.

The quill never left the man's hand.

"I have, my Lord," Lucius confirmed, not wanting to say more unless asked to.

"Do continue," the order was clear, but the quill was still dancing across the surface. Lucius didn't let his irritation bleed through, knowing that whatever he felt or would feel was an open book to the man.

"Igor Karkaroff has been installed as headmaster since 1981, gaining his position and the favor of Norwegian's government shortly after his trial. Unfortunately, many supporters of our cause left the school. And it is incredibly difficult to gain foothold within Durmstrang. Students and teachers alike are magically isolated and the secrecy act is still part of the school's clause. He's heavily protected by the government," Lucius concluded. He hesitated, knowing that the next part would be crucial and of interest to the man.

When no words were offered in return, he walked forward and left the file on the man's desk, retreating again with calm steps that belied his inner thoughts.

"A couple of months ago, the students received an urgent missive from the school's board and were warned of a change regarding the secrecy vow. Another clause was implemented and students and teachers alike were forced to decide whether they wanted to continue attending or not." He paused, breathing ragged with anticipation. "This is pure speculation on my part, but some of the families of the students confirmed that the children refusing to return were obliviated as per agreement. Apparently the information was classified with level A by the government. I believe it coincides with-"

The quill stopped scratching against the parchment and crimson eyes met Lucius's terrified gaze.

"It coincides with...?" the Dark Lord prompted, deceptively light.

Lucius swallowed, but gathered whatever remaining courage he possessed.

"Harry Potter's disappearance, my Lord," he finished.

More silence filled the room, but this time it felt more like being consumed by dark, tantalizing magic, ripped apart by it. Nothing showed in the Dark Lord's expression, though.

If anything, the man looked bored.

And Lucius knew he'd somehow screwed up.

"I'm not interested in speculations," Voldemort voiced, calm in spite of the dark pleasure sparking in his gaze.

"Then-?" the Malfoy patriarch began, but abruptly those crimson eyes turned threatening.

"I didn't ask for your opinions or theories, Lucius. I asked for facts. Now tell me, my slippery friend? Is Harry Potter currently residing at Durmstrang?"

And the blonde wizard could say nothing to confirm it.

"I'm not sure, my Lord."

"Has Dumbledore found the boy yet?" Lucius flinched.

"I don't know, my Lord."

"Then your information is meaningless."

The sound echoed off the walls and Lucius bowed once again, acknowledging his mistake and hoping that he wouldn't be punished for it.

"Your priority is to court the Norwegian minister of foreign relations to the cause and to infiltrate the school and all related institutions under Karkaroff's control."

The Dark Lord returned to his work, dismissing his follower.

"Yes, my Lord." No more words were exchanged between them.

Lucius left the room without looking like he wanted to get out, gloved hands shaking slightly. He knew he somehow escaped punishment, but he couldn't help wondering why the man hadn't been more excited about these news.

Dumbledore didn't know about Durmstrang's heightened security after all. And the fact that the events overlapped so neatly was certainly suspicious. But maybe the Potter brat had fled and gotten himself killed. Muggles reported that they've heard more than one voice in the train's compartment and some kids even witnessed the boy's departure.

The door to the Dark Lord's study closed and heavy wards were erected. Lucius Malfoy completely missed the man's reaction.

Voldemort's eyes darkened in satisfaction and he leaned back in his seat, thin lips forming the name _Harry_ soundlessly.


	5. Ending a Life

**DISCLAIMER:** The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

Note: Thanks again for favoriting/following. All questions surrounding Snape's past will be answered at some point. =)

* * *

**Chapter 5: Ending a Life**

Dolohov was a stubborn idiot.

If he didn't behave like a clingy pest that wanted to make Harry's life unpleasant, he mostly commented on all the other people in the castle, and especially those Harry associated with. Not many, admittedly. But it was still enough to drive him mad.

Viktor Krum became another victim of the boy's scorn and Harry had to endure a session on pureblood supremacy debates that escalated into a shouting match between the Bulgarian and Dolohov.

Pity.

Harry had looked forward to talking with Krum in private, considering the fact the older student didn't seem to mingle with the rest of the school, in spite of his popularity. He'd eventually said his goodbyes and Harry ignored a pissed off roommate for the rest of the evening.

Classes resumed the next day and Harry concluded that he wouldn't be able to pay Gregorovitch or Ms. Yassine a visit.

And that spelled trouble for him.

Friday turned out to be the disaster he had expected, with exams in every single subject making every first year student miserable. And seriously, whose brilliant idea was it to test students on a week's worth of academic knowledge?

Harry gritted his teeth in frustration, fighting the nausea that came with the repeated use of his wand. His right arm was shaking visibly and it was chore trying to hide his discomfort from the others. Karkaroff's suspicious eyes were following him seemingly everywhere.

He'd escaped the tumult in the Great Hall, with Krum wishing him good luck for the rest of his exams. Thankfully, Potions and Runes had turned out all right and Harry had been able to focus on the material, for the most part. History of Magic proved to be a nightmare, which in the end didn't bother him too much.

He planned on dropping History anyway, as well as Care of Dark Magical Creatures and Astronomy, so the test results were utterly irrelevant in these cases.

But after Transfiguration his concentration had been shot to hell.

Too bad, the final exam was _Dark Arts_.

Technically, he knew Karkaroff only expected the best of him, but Harry scoffed internally, thinking how absolutely delusional the man was for putting his fate in the hands of a child. Hell, everyone was delusional for doing that, which was another reason Harry appreciated the isolation Durmstrang provided.

He didn't want to deal with an adoring crowd yet.

"Hey Potter, good luck with your exam," Danielle called, giving him a cheery wave before turning around to talk to her friends.

They were currently waiting for Professor Moline, and Harry busied himself trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. The German girl never shied away from conversations and polite greetings, though, no matter how often Harry signaled his disinterest.

The nervous atmosphere was getting to him now, as he quietly observed the others. Some people were still cramming last bits and pieces of information in their heads and Harry noticed with amusement how Dolohov gave him a pointed look, taking a seat two rows down while repeating soundless incantations for practice.

The excited murmurs stopped as soon as the professor walked in and with another wave of the man's wand, a clock appeared.

"Good evening, and welcome to the Dark Arts exam," the man greeted, smiling gently. "The first part of the exam is merely theoretical. You simply fill out the questions sheet and skip those you have no answer for. The second part, however, will be practical and you'll be paired up in groups of two as I call you to the front. It's gonna be a simple duelling practice," Moline explained, and several students paled at that.

"Don't worry. If you have studied the curses and defense spells I introduced this week, you'll have no trouble passing the exam. And with that, you may begin."

Harry quickly turned the paper and sighed in relief when he finished reading the first question.

He went into detail describing the wand movements for the blasting curse, ignoring the pain in his arm for the moment.

* * *

"Time's up." With another wave, all sheets of paper were quickly collected and Harry leaned back, satisfied and confident he'd answered all questions correctly.

"Now, you'll be called out to the front and you have exactly one minute to disarm or incapacitate your opponent. No curses beyond level 3 should be used, unless you want me to call your parents or interrogate you on knowledge you technically shouldn't have," Moline threatened lightly. Some students smirked at that.

"Ankalov, Maria and Bishop, Kevin."

The professor had created enough space for the two students to duel properly, but the rest of the class had to stand in the back. Harry wasn't interested in watching that spectacle, though.

He was more worried about his wand and what it could possibly do in a duel. He couldn't afford to use more harmless spells, but knowing that with each curse his magic would be drained by his own wand...

He'd have to be quick about it.

It went on and on and some people were easily able to defeat their opponents. It also became clear that many purebloods favored showing off the skills they've been taught at home.

"Potter, Harry and Dolohov, Filipp," the professor suddenly called, and Harry grimaced.

'Just fantastic,' he thought, shuffling forward and facing the other boy who was already patiently waiting for him. So much for going the easy way.

He observed the other boy, who gazed at him impassively, his stance relaxed and mirroring Harry's own in a way that was almost a mockery. But Harry could detect a hint of nervousness in the way the taller boy was gripping his wand. Harry smirked in return.

"On the count of three," Moline said.

Harry raised his wand, the wood making the skin of his palm burn without any outward changes. The magic that connected him to the core, was already rising, as if preparing on instinct.

"One."

Dolohov pointed his wand at him, blue eyes narrowed in concentration.

"Two."

Harry adjusted his stance slightly, trying to guess how the baby Death Eater would proceed.

"Three."

Both fired off their spells, and Harry sidestepped the _Expelliarmus_, not bothering to raise a shield, unlike Dolohov who was forced to block his Stinging Hex. But he was very quick on his feet and Harry knew he'd simply have to start throwing one spell after another at his opponent without overthinking it.

"_Flugratis Torma_," Dolohov called, and Harry frowned, raising a _protego_. The spell bounced off his shield neatly, but the force of the curse pushed Harry back slightly. That was almost a level 4 curse, if Harry remembered correctly, but Moline led it slide.

Harry jumped to the side, ducking when another curse, this time an unknown one was hurled at him.

40 seconds left and he was fed up with being on the defensive. He threw a choking curse at the boy, while using the opportunity to step closer. He was tempted to simply charge ahead, but Harry didn't think Moline would appreciate his Muggle style approach.

He murmured _protego_ again and again and reinforced his shield. Hopefully, the thing would hold off Dolohov's increasingly more harmful curses. Harry then raised his wand above his head, drawing a circle-like pattern, feeling his temper rise in response to Dolohov's attack.

He knew this spell would backfire on him spectacularly, but he wanted to wipe that arrogant smirk off the boy's face. And deep down, he didn't like admitting defeat at all. He chanted the spell with only the slightest hesitation. The wand was greedily taking in his magic, channelling it and making it more difficult to control the amount of magic he used.

20 seconds left.

"_Vires Defero,_" Harry called, focusing on the movement. At once, his wand reacted, heating up in his palm and nearly making him drop it.

His defense was almost down, but he recognized the look on Dolohov's face. He must've known about Harry's spell, for he immediately started to raise a shield of his own; a variation of the protego that wouldn't even be covered this year.

10 seconds left and Harry threw all of it at the boy, a beam of bright light hitting the shield with precision. It should paralyze Dolohov temporarily, if his protection didn't hold.

As predicted, the shield shattered upon impact and the light hit the boy square in the chest, ending the duel effectively.

Harry lowered his wand, curious to see how the curse would affect Dolohov's nervous system.

What happened next was so much worse.

Dolohov dropped to his knees and started shrieking, and Harry noticed that his wand stopped affecting him almost instantly, but was now doing something to the boy in turn.

Harry stared horrified at the way the wand was now apparently sucking Dolohov's magic out of him instead of using his. There was a faint glow emanating somewhere from the boy's chest. Which shouldn't even be possible.

His wand was bonded to his magical core.

It wasn't bonded to anyone else.

The thing vibrated dangerously in his hand and several students gasped at the way more and more magic was pouring out of the other boy; some people were shouting something at him, but he didn't hear it. The only thing he noticed was Professor Moline's pointed look, who then tried to help Dolohov up.

"Go Potter!"

Harry was disturbed, couldn't even process the words.

"I said _go_!" Moline called and Harry couldn't do anything else but escape, scampering away as quickly as possible. His wand was still firmly connected to the other core, as if sensing that Harry wanted to leave. But he forced himself to move and threw open the door, leaving a worried professor and a group of terrified students behind.

* * *

Harry was stalking the parameter of the wards surrounding the castle, blocking any thoughts on Dolohov so as not to get distracted. As soon as he'd gotten away, he senses his magic reconnecting with the wand and letting go of Filipp, which was a small blessing. Right now, Moline was probably already on his way to the headmaster, which means Harry really didn't have much time to lose.

"You should go talk to Karkaroff!" Eileen was hovering at his side, shooting him worried looks.

"I can't."

"Why, Harry? It's not like you have to keep this secret forever?"

"And you told me I should be careful, Eileen, so I'm being careful," Harry said venomously. He continued, aware of the other boy who was now approaching them.

"Potter, vhat are you-? The others are looking for you," Krum began, staring at Eileen who seemed to know what was going on. Harry sighed, turning around to greet the Bulgarian.

"I don't have much time to explain this, but I'm glad you came," Harry said, having called him earlier as soon as he'd seen him getting out of class. Rumors were already spreading around and Harry was sure Karkaroff wouldn't waste any time trying to find him.

"You intend to use him as an anchor?" Eileen gaped at Harry, but he drew his wand and pointed it at the wards.

"Do it!"

The old witch sighed heavily, before approaching a very confused Krum, fully aware that once Harry got that stubborn look, there wasn't much people could do about it.

Harry held Hepzibah's journal in his hand, having taken it from his dorm earlier, now sensing the magic surrounding it. It would be helpful for his escape, but he could only use it once he was outside the castle's wards.

They were currently hidden away beneath an Oak tree. Eileen instructed Krum on how to do the transfusion spell, which was a skill the other student seemed to know about, oddly enough.

It was a bit of a gamble trusting someone who only managed to have two successful conversations with Harry so far, but the professor would be the last choice now.

"As soon as I'm gone, pretend you haven't seen me anywhere. The wards will still sense my presence, so Karkaroff will probably keep looking," Harry said, feeling the strain on his magic affecting him with the effort it took to focus on the magic surrounding Durmstrang. It was very old and extremely powerful. The electrifying feeling he usually got when he was very close to a powerful source was running rampant now.

"Done, Harry. We can begin now."

And Krum started chanting something in Old English while pointing his wand at Harry who in turn was now completely immersed in the magic.

No one has seen them yet, thankfully.

It took another couple of minutes to separate Harry's consciousness from the small piece he would be leaving behind, but with a last incantation Krum succeeded and Eileen nodded in approval.

It was an incredibly odd sensation, though.

Harry lowered his wand and calmly walked forward, his body passing the ancient wards with ease, while another piece of him, someone that looked exactly like him was manifesting on the other side, joining Eileen and Viktor and staring at Harry impassively. Harry quickly instructed the spectre to hide in one of the abandoned corridors, making sure he would not be seen by anyone.

With a tap he activated the portkey that was Hepzibah's journal and threw an apologetic look at the others. He would need to thank Krum for doing that without making much fuss, but he didn't doubt he'd have to answer some of his questions later.

"I'll be back in a couple of hours," he mouthed, before disappearing.

* * *

'Well, this is surprising' Harry thought, inspecting the shop carefully. The room was darkened and dusty, but Harry instantly recognized where he was, confused that he ended up back in Berlin instead of Morocco. Carolina had given him the portkey after all and he didn't think she would be with Gregorovitch now.

A sound of movement from somewhere else signaled that one of the wandmakers or maybe the assistant was present. It didn't matter anyway, since he wouldn't be leaving without answers.

The spectre informed him that he's found a spot to hide, his words sounding like an echo inside Harry's mind. It wasn't an ideal situation, but hopefully the spell bought Harry enough time to interrogate the wandmakers.

He tried to calm down somewhat, making his way over to a rickety chair, being careful not to move his wand arm too much.

Plopping himself down ungracefully, he started examining his wand more closely, looking for possible changes.

Nothing.

The color and length were still the same; the odd thrumming sensation abating with Harry's disuse. How could this thing possibly use someone else's magic like that? It didn't make any sense.

No, actually nothing made sense.

According to the lore and several laws, it was forbidden to use parts of a Dementor for any magical properties, either wands or potions, but that sensation of having your magic sucked out of you should never happen with a simple piece of wood. None of the books on wandlore had helped him out and the cursed journal wasn't much use either, other than transporting him from one place to another.

"There you are, Mr. Potter!" someone called and Harry gave a jerk, not having heard anything. He stood and turned around to greet his newcomer, surprised that it was Gregorovitch in person who was now leaning casually against the threshold.

"Mr. Gregorovitch," Harry said, inclining his head slightly. The bearded, elderly wizard gave an amused chuckle in return.

"I've been hoping you would pay me another visit. And it's nice to see you without your dreadful companion," the wandmaker remarked, his tone and general attitude much different from the way he behaved when Harry first met him.

"Dreadful?" Harry asked. "I assumed Headmaster Karkaroff was a close friend of yours, sir."

"Friends? Ah yes. Outsiders would see it that way. But in our current society I don't think you can afford to have friends like him, Mr. Potter."

Gregorovitch observed the boy, noting Harry's physical appearance with detached curiosity. Harry tried to beat down his exhaustion, not wanting to look as weak as he felt, what with all the magic he'd performed today.

"I came to return the wand." Harry decided to be blunt, not wanting to rise to the bait. He didn't need to flaunt his general dislike for the headmaster in front of someone he knew nothing about.

"I'm afraid that's not possible."

"And why not?" Harry glared, fed up with the man's impassivity.

"Because we already told you that your wand has bonded with you and with you only," Gregorovitch remarked.

Harry sat back again, wincing at the sound the chair made in return. He eyed the other man, not quite convinced of his feeble explanations.

He would have to return soon, preferably before the sun has set.

"If you call draining someone's magic to the point of shutting down completely a bonding, then I'm not exactly happy with it," Harry exclaimed, carding his fingers through his unruly hair in frustration.

And now he got a reaction out of the old wizard. Gleeful eyes were watching his wand and a smirk twisted the man's features.

"So it already started, then. Good, good. I was expecting some resistance, but it's great that your magic is already so in tune with the core," Mykew said, rubbing his ink-stained hands together.

"Look, I'm tired and I just had to escape a nosy headmaster and I kept mum about the wand's properties. So the least you could give me is an explanation, because I honestly can't make sense of it," Harry admitted, his patience gone.

Gregorovitch smiled at that and made his way over to a ratty, black couch. Glancing at the table somewhere to the left, he contemplated how to answer Harry's question.

"Well, I suppose we can start at the beginning," Mykew said, stroking his beard. "The wand you're currently holding is an illegally crafted design. As you probably know, the wand's core in particular is outlawed, and dabbling in magic containing pieces of a Dementor can send you straight to prison," he said and Harry noted his sudden lack of an accent. Apparently, the man had played a role the last time they met.

"So you're in trouble for having created that wand?" Harry asked immediately.

"Well, I'm not, but Ms. Yassine is, of course. You see, she created the wand at a time when such spellcraft served a specific purpose."

Harry caught on where this was going and a sense of foreboding gripped him as he inspected the wand.

"You're referring to a war, I guess?" Harry asked. He could see it now. The way his wand was reacting to dark magic in general and how he had such a hard time controlling it, even as the owner of that wand. It should have been a dead giveaway.

"Not just any war, my boy. The last wizarding war the rise and fall of the Dark Lord," Gregorovitch added. Harry bit his lower lip nervously.

So this was it. No matter how hard Harry tried to escape his looming fate, somehow all the things connected to him inadvertently pointed him in Voldemort's direction. He held no belief that he could simply disappear off the face of the planet, but this was getting ridiculous. Even resigned to his fate, it seems like nothing ever wanted to turn out the way he wanted it to. A crushing helplessness invaded his thoughts once again and he ruthlessly tried to squash that feeling down.

"We call this wand one of the failed experiments," Mykew interjected, neutral expression settling in again. Harry nodded, signaling he'd heard the man and was following the conversation.

"The failed experiments are part of a grander campaign to create the most powerful wands known to mankind." Gregorovitch's tone suggested he didn't think much of that idea. He continued nonetheless. "During the Dark Lord's first rise, the demand for highly skilled wandmakers was very high, and the Dark Lord showed genuine interest in the lore behind it."

Harry somehow doubted that. In his imagination Voldemort used whatever tool available to extend his own power rather than appreciating the magic behind it. Maybe it was a misconception on his part, but the image of a power-hungry war mongrel stuck to him after having read and listened to other people's accounts of the man.

"Did he hire Ms. Yassine do produce these wands for his army?" Harry asked.

"Something like that. Most of us with origins and ties to Dark pureblood families were ordered to equip his men with something more substantial than the British wands from Ollivander, a man who basically sold his wands to all the wizards and witches in Great Britain."

Gregorovitch relaxed a bit, his head slightly inclined.

The room was almost entirely shrouded in darkness now, but with a quick _lumos_ Harry could once again take in all the knick-knacks that were littering the shop. He couldn't afford to stay for much longer, though, the spectre in his mind now reporting that teachers and prefects were patrolling the school.

Harry hesitated, careful how to word his question. "So, this wand is one of Voldemort's creation or...?"

To Mykew's credit, the old wizard didn't flinch at all or reprimanded him for using the Dark Lord's name. He simply continued to stare impassively at him.

"Wrong, this wand wasn't created by the Dark Lord per se, since he had no idea what kind of ingredients and tools were needed to harness a wizard's power. He was shockingly ignorant on this, despite his careful reassurances." He paused, thinking. "We simply produced wands with cores and wood that were outlawed centuries ago."

"But why? Surely, Ms. Yassine could have refused," Harry asked promptly.

The man snorted.

"And get herself killed? It was either that or instant death and most of us fancy the idea of living," the old man said. "Besides, Carolina had planned on producing a wand without the Ministry's restrictions or general interference for a long time, using the Old Ways to make something that resembled the use of magic from before. It was her choice to simply continue doing that with the blessing of the Dark Lord."

Harry frowned, uncomprehending. "I didn't think she was loyal to the Dark Lord..." he trailed off.

"Loyal?" Gregorovitch let out a cold laugh, not amused at all. "She absolutely hates him."

And now it was Harry's turn to laugh, disbelieving. "Really," he drawled. "I don't think I would hand over valuable weapons to my greatest enemy, unless..."

Unless, you created something that _was meant_ to overpower the Dark Lord, something that would _never_ be loyal or choose the Dark Lord to begin with. Harry's thoughts turned ice-cold.

"You see it now, boy?" The man smiled again, delighted at Harry's bewilderment, lips curling into dark amusement.

"The wand's properties can be tampered with. We simply coax the magical items into behaving the way we want it to. But mostly, the properties act of their own accord. All it took was Rowan, the celtic symbol of healing and divine protection, and a Dementor who had no wish to ally itself with the Dark Lord."

Harry caught on. "But how did you communicate with the Dementor? I heard it's almost impossible to make them obey."

"That's another secret of our craft, Potter. You'd have to become a wandmaker yourself to let me teach you the ways in which we communicate with nature and magic itself," Gregorovitch explained.

Harry considered it.

He could readily admit that wandmaking was an overlooked craft, but the sheer power people like Ms. Yassine or even Ollivander had at their disposal. It was no wonder the government restricted what kind of pieces one could use. For a while, Harry suspected that the wizarding world possessed an almost unnatural paranoia against all things powerful or ancient.

It was understandable. For him who was raised by Muggles, joining this community and experiencing all kinds of wonders was a surprise. The amount of possibilities you had as a wizard couldn't compare to the mundane life of a Muggle. But with power came responsibility, no matter how cliché that sounded. Certain people tended to abuse their gifts, going way beyond the limits of magic. And Harry believed in human nature and could understand why the government would place so many restrictions on the people, policing itself so as not to fall back into the Middle Ages where anarchy amongst the wizarding world was a common thing.

That doesn't mean he wasn't curious to test these limits himself.

"Oh, I see what you're thinking, Potter. But forget about it. Your path doesn't align with mine. But we're happy to see you using the wand to the best of your abilities and Carolina is absolutely delighted to know that this particular wand chose the Boy-Who-Lived. Which shouldn't be a surprise to you now."

Harry glowered, wanting to make a point.

"But I can't control it. The wand reacts to other people as well. And it drains me completely!"

"Then force it to obey you, boy," Gregorovitch clarified. "The wand chose you, which means it saw you as someone worthy enough to handle its power. But the effects you're experiencing are simply because you're hesitating; because you're full of doubt. So it's reacting to someone who is not, which is why the wand probably felt drawn to use someone else's magic for a moment, someone who lacked the power, but was easy to influence. And that's why no one can know about it, because a tool like that can turn even a powerless fool into a mindless instrument," he accused.

"Well, I don't know what I'm supposed to do yet and I don't think I'm powerful enough to control this thing."

Mykew sighed, leaning heavily against the couch.

"That is your problem. But it shouldn't be a problem at all. You're Harry Potter, the one who defeated one of the greatest wizards of all time. You have the wizarding world at your feet, boy."

Harry tried to calm his madly beating heart, incensed that everyone was pushing him to do one thing or another while claiming that he was free to do whatever he wanted.

Bullshit.

He wasn't free at all. He was trapped in prophecies and prisoner of an Ex- Death Eater. He had people watching his every move and commenting on it with equal fervor. And he was getting sick of it. He rose, clenching the wand in his hand as if his life depended on it.

"I can destroy it, you know."

"You can't," the old man said. "The wand was designed for the Dark Lord, but it rejected him -as planned- and found itself in your hands. Carolina worked on that outcome and took measures to ensure that no one would be able to get rid of it, especially not one who was chosen. But you're welcome to try."

And Harry did just that, trying to bend the wood, to make it snap. He even thought about researching wandless magic to destroy it later on.

But nothing happened. It looked like the Rowan was made of steel and no amount of pressure even left a dent on the thing. He thought about throwing it in the trash or leaving it here, but from the old wizard's look he could guess that the stick would find itself back in Harry's dormitory, no matter what.

"Fuck", Harry swore, his hands now hurting more than ever. Gregorovitch took great pleasure in watching his miserable attempts.

"Are you done, Potter?" the wizard crossed his legs, almost bored now.

"Okay, fine. I'll keep the thing, but you could at least tell me how I can make it obey. I don't really want to end up comatose every time I use more complex magic," Harry said, holding the wand up and glaring at it, forcing it to "like him".

"It's speciality is healing and offensive magic. So work with what you have and practice without doubting yourself every single time. The wand senses your hesitation, after all," Mykew explained. "You simply have to become more powerful."

"Right." Harry grabbed Hepzibah's journal and prepared to leave. He knew that this was all the explanation he would get tonight, but there wasn't anything he could do about it.

"Have you read it?" the wizard pointed at Harry's portkey.

"Not exactly," he said, not interested to prolong this conversation.

"Then you should. Carolina has given you some tools to work with."

Harry doubted that the simpering and pitiful thoughts of an old woman lusting after younger boys would help him. But he didn't reply, turning around to leave the shop.

Something disturbing happened, though.

There was a crash from somewhere else, and suddenly he could make out footsteps that were approaching them quickly.

"Do you expect guests," Harry asked, now worried.

"No." Gregorovitch was alarmed, listening to the sounds carefully.

"Did Karkaroff place a trace on you, boy?" He quickly walked forward and grabbed Harry's arm to push him out of the room.

"Eh, I don't think so," Harry whispered, trying to get rid of the man's offending limb.

"You don't think-," the man murmured, incredulous. "Potter, take the backdoor and leave." He pointed at the other end of the room.

"Can't you just cast a spell to disguise me?" Harry asked, but the man shook his head forcefully. And with that Harry left, opening the door and taking the steps down. The old wizard was left behind.

Harry walked quickly across the hallway and opened another door, welcoming the cold air that calmed him down somewhat. He crossed the street, hoping that the people in Gregorovitch's shop wouldn't harm the old man. He didn't really care about him, but he also didn't fancy leaving someone behind to confront a gang of burglars. Besides, he still planned on researching wand lore and possibly interrogating the old goat.

Someone grabbed his neck and forced him to turn around.

Harry could've cursed himself for his carelessness.

"What do we have here?" the masked man jeered and Harry stared, terrified at the being in front of him. He recognized those masks from one of the books. And it was mind-boggling.

Death Eaters.

But how? How did they suddenly...?

"Little boys like you shouldn't be walking alone, all by themselves. Where is your friend, boy?" the tall figure asked, increasing the force with which he held him and making Harry gasp.

"I saw you leaving that shop, so I suggest you tell the truth," The man's dark eyes peered at him from beneath the black and silver mask, inspecting him carefully.

"I-don't know. Let me go!" Harry whispered, trying to break free, his glasses almost slipping down the bridge of his nose. He didn't know what to do at all. He wasn't trained to fight these people. And how did they end up here in Berlin anyway?

"Lies...now tell m-" The man gasped in surprise, looking him over. "You look awfully familiar. Are you P-" he pulled him even closer and Harry could smell the liquor on him.

Harry's arm wiggled free of the man's hold and he did it on instinct. Drawing up his wand, he pointed the tip at the man's neck, panicked but determined to get rid of him. He didn't think about the consequences.

"_Diffindo,_" he called, and watched in morbid fascination and horror how such a simple spell instantly sliced through the man's neck. Blood sprinkled Harry's clothes and his face and with a last jerky movement, the man fell down, gurgling something incoherently as more and more blood pooled out of the wound.

Harry stepped back, stumbling slightly while his body went numb.

No one was there to help him and with a detached feeling, he realized he had just possibly killed someone.

He'd killed another human being.

And it was so simple, such an _easy_ way to do it.

He felt like throwing up.

Harry pointed his wand at the man, trying to remember a healing spell. Any spell whatsoever to stop the blood from flowing. Wasn't this thing supposed to be good for healing? He struggled, turning his head to see whether there was anyone else.

"Shit!" he murmured, too late to save his attacker. With a last shuddering breath, the man's eyes glazed over, empty eyes staring at the night's sky from beneath the mask.

Harry stood rigid. Anyone could've seen that. He was now a murderer.

Couldn't the magic be traced back to him?

And fuck, he just _killed_ someone.

Harry's panic increased tenfold, but he didn't have to wait long, before another sound interrupted the deadly silence.

Someone was clapping, leaning casually against one of the stone walls of a building. The person had appeared out of nowhere, but under the sparse light Harry instantly recognized the features. He paled, a mix of relief and horror invading him at the sight.

"Professor Moline?" he asked quietly.

The man approached him, calmly walking forward, amusement evident in his look as his eyes took in Harry's bloody appearance with an intensity that wasn't normal. But then none of this was normal.

"Bravo, Potter. I didn't think you had it in you," the wizard said, stopping right in front of him.

Harry stared, unable to make sense of this.


	6. Repercussions

******DISCLAIMER:** The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

**Note: **_I'm really blessed to have gotten such amazing feedback. Thanks again. I really enjoyed reading your thoughts and speculations :) _

_We're now leaving the "minor" mysteries behind and delving deeper into Harry's psyche, what makes him tick and how others deal with him accordingly. It's more of an interlude. That's what this chapter is mostly about. From now on things will quickly move forward and at some point Harry and Voldemort are going to meet face to face *rubs hands gleefully* ;) But I want to establish certain things before that happens, so please be patient with me :D . Even though you might not hear much from the Dark Lord at this point, he's definitely busy with one thing or another and the chess pieces are moving without Harry's awareness. Not for much longer, though._

_A reviewer mentioned something about Eileen and I need to clarify certain things again. She was **teaching at Durmstrang**, but **not attending it as a student**. Actually, Eileen's student background is pretty much the same as in canon. She attended Hogwarts somewhere around 1941/1946 (during the war) and was a bit younger than Riddle at that time. Not much is known in canon between 1960 and 1980, which is why I took liberties and designed a background for her. She still married Tobias Snape in this story and they did live in the slums on Spinner's End. She frequently flooed over to Durmstrang to teach, though she never got much money from that and they still lived in poverty. We'll get a bit deeper into that when I bring Snape into the story :) Anyway, just to clarify for the reviewer, who presumed she studied at Durmstrang._

_I don't usually do that, since I want to let the story speak for itself rather than using author notes to explain certain details. Sorry for that._

_Anyway, enjoy :)_

**Warning for this chapter: PTSD symptoms**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Repercussions**

The putrid smell of murder clung to him like an infestation, a disease with countless arms that dragged him down to the deepest pits of self-hatred. Harry doubted he would ever be able to get rid of that.

He was still a boy; not even a teenager yet. So how was he supposed to deal with murder?

Harry tightened his hold on the wand, not wanting to let his guard down around the professor who was still eyeing him with amusement. It was a disturbing sight, marring the man's handsome features and turning him into something grotesque.

"Let's get away from here, Potter. It's not safe yet," Moline murmured and urged him to move away from the corpse. Harry stood still, refusing to take another look or to obey the wizard.

"How did you find me?" he demanded instead.

But the Dark Arts professor simply shrugged and pointed his wand at the carcass of the Death Eater. The man's mask slipped off and revealed the pale and scarred face of the person Harry had killed.

"Walden Macnair," Moline murmured and with a quick nonverbal spell the corpse was incinerated. The blueish flames consumed the evidence, leaving nothing behind other than the lingering smell of charred flesh. With a quick _scourgify_ even the remaining blood came off easily.

"Nasty man. But you shouldn't feel bad about that trash, Potter," Julian said, looking at Harry and acting as if they were talking about a minor inconvenience. The vulgarity and offhanded remark didn't make him feel any better. But he ignored the statement, focusing on a more pressing issue.

"Anyone could've seen that," he whispered, exhausted.

"True," Moline said.

The professor looked around, inspecting the darkened buildings of the neighborhood. No sounds came from Gregorovitch's shop, which wasn't _normal_. There should've been more commotion if someone was after the old man.

"Follow me," Moline insisted. And with a last glance at the abandoned shop, Harry turned away and used a spell to remove the blood on his face and robes. They quickly turned the corner, disappearing out of sight.

Harry was acutely aware that the professor still hasn't bothered answering his initial question.

The silence between them felt unnatural, but there was nothing Harry could do now; Moline didn't bother with small talk and the situation was too drastic to fill it with meaningless drivel.

Harry followed the man, aimlessly walking behind him, deep in thought. The rational part inside him told him quite clearly that he was probably still in shock.

"If you're worried about any magical traces or witnesses, now is not the time," Moline murmured, voice urgent as he quickened his steps, his grey cloak billowing behind him. Harry was forced to run in order to keep up.

_Walden Macnair_; the name was nothing more than a persistent echo inside his mind.

In a way it would've been easier to deal with it, if Harry hadn't known the man's name. But slapping an identity on the body made his act all the more horrifying.

He could turn himself in, but then all those last months would've been for nothing and he'd most likely be called the next, junior Dark Lord by the public, despite getting rid of a Death Eater. It was even more likely that the public wouldn't believe any claims about the Dark Lord's return or that his followers were running rampant again. They would call him an attention-seeker or lunatic.

He could also try to run, but where would he go? His ties to the wizarding world were fickle at best. He had no resources to fall back on, no friends to help him out. Or he would end up in a wizarding prison, most likely Nurmengard or Azkaban.

And it was a thoughtless move on his part to simply follow Julian around when the man was still acting so suspiciously.

"Fuck," Julian swore and Harry nearly ran into him.

Then he felt it.

The energy that coursed through the area was unmistakable. It trapped them rather effectively.

"Anti-Apparition wards," Moline confirmed, examining the cobblestone ground and searching for something. Harry raised his wand in preparation, not caring how much it would drain him to use more offensive spells at this stage.

Someone was looking for them.

"I can't determine how far the wards extend, but I could try breaking through it."

"Do we have the time for that, sir?" Harry asked.

Moline shook his head. Of course not.

They would have to _run_.

"Stay close to me," the professor said and Harry's instincts kicked in, readying himself for an eventual fight with Death Eaters or something equally dangerous.

Then he noticed it. The faint voices of several people who were rapidly coming closer, heading in their direction. The professor quickly tapped his wand against Harry's shoulder. Immediately, an odd sensation that felt like eggs being cracked on his head travelled through him. He knew that Moline just cast the Disillusionment Charm. The older wizard continued twirling his wand around himself, getting invisible as well.

Harry couldn't see him anymore, but that didn't mean he didn't feel the sudden, forceful way in which the professor pushed him against the wall. A cold hand grasped his chin, fingers quickly covering Harry's lips so as not to make a sound.

Harry didn't dare to breathe.

Not a moment too late, because a group of masked men entered the alleyway, pounding footsteps disrupting their silence.

"He can't just disappear like that," someone shouted.

"I don't know, Jugson."

Harry felt Moline's tension, his fingers digging painfully into him.

"The old fool always had some tricks up his sleeve. I just don't think we should go back empty-handed," the man called Jugson said, fear entering his voice.

"We have to. Call the others," the unknown masked man demanded, passing both the professor and Harry without noticing them.

"Where's Macnair?" a third voice joined them, now standing less than 10 feet away from them.

"Who cares? We have to report now," a rough voice barked. Harry watched the masked people closely, noticing the way the other two deferred to the unknown man. He could detect a sort of leadership within this small group and concluded that these people were highly skilled in strategic moves, organized in way that benefited them all. It surprised him however that they would take so many people with them just to capture Gregorovitch. Apparently, the old wandmaker had dealt with these people before, which made him a viable threat these criminals took seriously.

"Did you hear that?" Jugson asked, turning around and looking somewhere to the left of Harry and Julian.

"What?" the leader of the group asked, looking around. Silence met them, but Harry was almost certain they'd be able to hear his heartbeat.

"You're paranoid, Gibbon. Let's go!"

All three of them left the alleyway, and the professor immediately let go of him, but didn't cancel the invisibility charm. Instead he simply took Harry's hand in his calloused one, and led him away.

They didn't dare to run yet.

It took half an hour to reach the end of the perimeter and Harry quickly crossed the anti-apparition wards, wordlessly tightening his hold on the professor's arm, before being swept away.

* * *

The first thing Harry did before entering Durmstrang was to inform his spectre of the situation, which took a couple of minutes and a bit of mental exercising that drained him more than it should. The thing was still hiding from everyone. The Dark Arts professor watched silently as Harry merged with his counterpart, no doubt recognizing the magic behind it. Durmstrang's wards weren't triggered by it, but from now on he would have to depend on Moline's decisions. The professor would probably tell the Headmaster everything, so it really didn't matter anymore.

Eileen had reappeared to watch the proceedings, but no words were exchanged between her and her "friend".

"Go back to your dorm, Potter. I will deal with this," Moline said, taking the stairs leading to the headmaster's office. Harry nodded, surprised that he was being left off the hook so easily. He couldn't quite meet the man's eyes. But he nodded and made his way back, Eileen silently trailing after him. No students were bothering him as everyone was already sleeping.

The portraits carefully watched the young student as he made his way to the first year dorms, head hanging low.

Harry still had no clue how the professor had found him amongst the chaos.

It was simply too convenient to turn up right after...he'd done that _thing_.

The reaction had been less than surprising, though. Harry had learned early on that behind the facade of rationality the man's casual sadism often became blatant in class. How the handsome wizard could possibly be friends with Eileen Prince was beyond him.

He closed the door and ignored the ghost who was still eyeing him with that look she sometimes got around him. He made his way over to the bathroom, intending to get rid of the dirt that still clung to him, imaginary as it was. Dolohov wasn't there and Harry guessed the teachers probably have taken his roommate to the infirmary.

Once alone, he started stripping off all layers of clothes, not even looking at the garments. He pulled out his wand and tapped it against the faucet.

Thankfully, the house-elf assigned for him had taken the time to give him a new set of pajamas.

Even clean and dressed properly didn't make the disgusting smell of blood and charred flesh disappear.

He should've taken the warnings seriously.

Wasn't Karkaroff the one who had warned him about the consequences and the many outcomes he would deal with once he got involved in the war? That murder and torture was now part of his life simply because his name was Harry Potter?

He'd listened to the warnings, thinking about future outcomes and shrewdly calculating possible scenarios. But knowing these things and actually experiencing them were two completely different things.

He was trying to make more sense of what he'd done, justifying his actions. In that moment, however, it simply _felt right_ to cast this spell. It was all on him.

Maybe it was easier to claim that his unpredictable wand was responsible for all of it or that it was self-defense and nothing more. But he didn't believe it. Maybe...

Maybe he was just a _bad_ person. The fact that he was capable to take someone's life like that should be enough evidence.

Harry took a look in the mirror, his eyes locked on the spot where his scar was now visibly standing out against the pale complexion of his skin, looking inflamed.

He knew he wasn't morally good, despite his attempts to hide it and be "better". He grew up stealing money from his relatives, sneaking around and destroying properties when his temper got the best of him. At school, he never bothered to apply himself more than necessary in fear of retribution, easily cultivating the image of a loner instead. He held no respect for adults in general, distrusting anyone who claimed to care about him or his education and family situation. He lied frequently.

Many people would sign these things off as typical behavior of boys his age, but deep down Harry knew he could hurt someone if pushed too far. It made socializing especially difficult for him in the past. Deep down however, he always wanted a friend. And now it was so much worse simply because he had more power at his disposal than before. Handling that kind of power and having the urge to punish people who hurt him was not a good combination. Being famous on top of that made it difficult to find people who didn't care for that aspect of his life.

Harry turned away and left the bathroom, intending to get some rest. He wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. Tonight's events would make sure of that.

He crawled into bed under the watchful eyes of Eileen, not bothering to tell her to go away.

* * *

Sneaking into the infirmary before breakfast posed no problem for him. Karkaroff would probably hunt him down right after classes, but so far no one has mentioned anything. The few people he met in the corridors stayed away from him, regarding him somewhat suspiciously. Harry didn't care.

The heavy scent of antiseptic and various potions invaded his sense of smell, but Harry resolutely made his way over to the single bed that was occupied, straightening his tie and making himself look somewhat presentable. His bloodshot eyes told another story.

The patient seemed to know who was approaching him, though.

"Potter, are you here to gloat?" Dolohov snarked weakly as Harry lifted the white hangings and drew a chair over to the bedside.

"Do I look like I'm gloating?" he shot back and Filipp's eyes widened at that, probably seeing the disheveled state he was in and drawing all the wrong conclusions.

"You look like you're the one who's been robbed off his magic, not me. But I'm not complaining."

Harry watched somewhat dispassionately as the other boy tried to make himself comfortable, fluffing up his pillow.

"I didn't steal your magic," Harry said.

"Certainly felt like it."

Harry sighed, meeting bright blue eyes that were currently pinning him on the spot, accusation and confusion making themselves clear. Harry just wanted to get it over with.

"Look, whatever happened... happened accidentally. I didn't cast some obscure spell on purpose. What happened to you was because of the issues I've been struggling with lately," Harry explained, circumventing the truth.

"And what did you struggle with, Potter?"

"Can't tell," Harry said and Filipp grew even more resentful.

"See, and this is my problem with you," Dolohov exclaimed, crossing his arms. "You never tell me anything, not even the stuff that affects me. And I think I have the right to know what kind of bullshit you're dealing with. Bloody hell, it's not even a week into the term, and you're already in trouble."

"Oh, I didn't know you cared so much?" Harry's voice dripped with sarcasm.

"Care? Potter, I'm fucking living with you. Everything that happens around you will reach me as well, if you haven't noticed."

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Again. We aren't friends." He snorted, pointedly looking away from the baby Death Eater. "I don't owe you anything just because you're living with me. I mean, if that bothers you so much, then talk with the headmaster. Ask for another roommate. Maybe then you won't get caught up in my issues."

"Why are you here, Harry," Dolohov asked quietly and Harry met his eyes again, surprised.

They stared at each other in silence and Harry took note of the way Filipp almost seemed to bite his lips nervously now. He certainly noticed how the boy was gripping his sheets, tension radiating off him. The moment lasted maybe a single second, and it was kind of surreal to see him letting his guard down so much. Harry could only respond in kind, though, shoulders dropping in defeat while a pained look entered his green eyes.

"I simply wanted to apologize. It really wasn't my intention to...hurt you" Harry said stiffly, but he held the boy's look. Dolohov obviously was perspicacious enough to detect Harry's honesty, even if the Boy-Who-Lived wasn't used to saying sorry and actually meaning it.

"I see."

Nothing more was said between them, but Harry didn't appreciate the passivity and casual dismissal. He was also confused that the other student wasn't asking for more details. His acceptance of Harry's evasive answer was surprising.

The walls were firmly established between them.

Why it bothered Harry so much was another issue he couldn't figure out.

"You have classes, Potter. Maybe you should go," Dolohov remarked, leaning back. He looked just like Harry felt inside. Harry nodded and stood, intending to leave.

However, something caught his eye. The other boy was still clenching his fingers around his sheets, as if trying to shield himself.

_To protect himself from Harry._

And that was just wrong.

There was nothing of that supercilious attitude that Dolohov usually sported around him. No confidence at all. He looked fragile, which was something Harry had never witnessed before. Not to that degree.

"I-" Harry said, shaking his head slightly. And then he did something which was completely out of character for him.

Harry reached out and grasped the boy's hand, carefully making sure that Dolohov's fingers weren't fisting the white material. Instead his own hand curled around the pureblood's limp one, offering comfort.

It was awkward and Filipp's silence spoke volumes. Harry squeezed his hand once and then let go, regretting the action as soon as he'd initiated it.

He stepped away and didn't catch the look of wonder that was crossing the student's face for a second. Before he could shut the door, Dolohov said something.

"You're a good dueller, Potter. Keep it up," the boy remarked.

The corners of Harry's mouth lifted slightly.

* * *

The months grew colder and classes turned out to be more demanding than he initially thought. Harry had received notice that he would attend all advanced classes he sighed up for. Slacking off was therefore not an option.

Additionally, Karkaroff supervised some of his classes in person and kept an even closer watch on him than before.

The whole "incident" in Germany was kept under wraps, and while Harry learned that Moline had never told Karkaroff anything about his murderous streak, the headmaster knew about the ways in which Harry managed to escape. Even the newspapers told some convoluted story of a robbery in Gregorovitch's shop, leading to the wizard's disappearance. No witnesses have been found, which was another oddity.

After a stern talking and more than a few humiliating insults, Harry hadn't done anything else to displease the vain, old man. Thankfully, Eileen and Krum have been left out of this mess. That didn't mean, however, that the rest of the student body forgot the incident with Dolohov. Rumors floated around, of course. It led to even more isolation, although some people were curious enough to attempt to talk to him. No one was bullying him, though, which was a nice and welcoming effect.

Apparently all you needed in order to be left alone is to simply display some powerful, mysterious magic. It served Harry just fine.

Halloween came and went without problems, although the pain in Harry's scar seemed to be particularly annoying during that day.

At Durmstrang, people didn't celebrate Halloween in the sense that Muggleborns or Light wizards did. Instead, Samhain ceremonies and festivities were conducted, celebrating the beginning of winter. Bonfires were lit on the open fields surrounding the castle, which was fascinating to witness. Harry especially enjoyed the way students were attempting to jump over the smoke, getting closer and closer to fire without magical protection. Professor Wilkes reprimanded more than a couple of idiots who almost set themselves on fire.

Samhain was a Gaelic festival known to the Muggle world, but wizards of dark ancestry from all over the world seemed to embrace the customs in ways that no Muggle could imagine. Harry had to wear the traditional blood-red Durmstrang robes and he even forced himself to paint intricate runes on his face.

Many people had stared at him that day, more so than usual. Harry rationalized it with the anniversary of the Dark Lord's demise and the death of his parents, although Eileen often shot him knowing smirks that confused the hell out of him.

Dolohov was more subdued, though, treating him cordially. Sometimes he even gave him small, barely perceptible smiles. Harry had often made a point to share some information with him in the last months. Nothing important, but small anecdotes about the type of magic they studied. It led to interesting conversations, although they avoided the more serious topics like loyalties to the Dark or any type of propaganda.

Harry never mentioned the Dark Lord, the prophecy or his encounter with the group of Death Eaters he met in Berlin. They never discussed the headlines in the newspapers, like the never-ending search for Longbottom and the panic in wizarding Britain that increased with every day that passed with no information on Harry's location.

The political ramifications were grave, but Durmstrang's students changed their behavior slowly, no longer treating Harry's presence like a secret they desperately needed to share, but rather enjoying the fact that they were the only ones in Europe who knew about him. Though Harry never doubted that people would sell him out the moment Karkaroff's iron hold on the school loosened.

Harry also enjoyed reading about the different ways in which politicians strove to undermine Dumbledore's influence in the Wizengamot, the high court of law. They used Harry's disappearance to create more internal conflicts, even going so far as to give interviews with the press to publicly denounce Dumbledore, thus swaying the people one way or another. Bribing someone for more information became a common practice.

He often wondered what it would be like to meet Dumbledore face to face, a person who was regarded as the most powerful Light wizard in Europe and known for his many accomplishments in magic and various battles. It would be interesting to observe the old man's reaction to him, considering the way Dumbledore has so far played an important part to influence his life.

The old man would have to wait, for now. Harry still intended to make the best of his current situation, getting stronger to make sure that no one would hold more power over him than necessary. Dark Lords and Light wizards be damned.

Another important observation was his performance in class. Now that he held more knowledge about his wand and the purpose it was originally created for, Harry threw himself into mastering and truly winning the wand's loyalty. Oddly, cold-blooded murder seemed to pave the way for that. Doing magic after the "Berlin disaster" was a much easier affair than before. No magic-stealing accidents happened again.

There was just one thing that Harry regarded as minor inconvenience. Dolohov and Krum seemed to think otherwise.

He slept less and couldn't even stomach proper food, nausea getting a hold of him more often than not. In moments when he was all by himself, he had to take a breath to calm himself down. When students approached him, he often got jumpy or irritated, snapping at them without reason. His temper was always an issue, but it was never that much of problem or something he couldn't manage at all.

It was confusing.

Nightmares were the worst, though.

The name Macnair haunted him to the point where he couldn't even look at himself and not see a twisted being, a monster in his place.

Dolohov usually woke him up, but his remarks weren't helpful at all. And even Krum's insistence on playing Quidditch led to nothing. Harry had discovered earlier that he was a reasonably good flier, at which point Krum had snorted, muttering something unintelligible.

The days got progressively worse.

Harry was currently watching the flames of the bonfire, the light reflected off of his glasses. He was lost in thought.

If he were honest with himself, he would even say that something was definitely wrong with him. To hide his trembling hands, he kept them in his pockets, staring impassively ahead.

Around him people were enjoying themselves, handing out food and initiating various rituals. People were even doing divination, laying out stones around the fire to predict their own demise. Some second year students even asked Harry to join, predicting his death jokingly and making crude references to the Dark Lord.

Harry imagined Voldemort storming the castle and putting these people in their place.

"You're tense," Dolohov said, standing right beside him and staring at the fire.

"Tell me something I don't know," Harry murmured.

Filipp smiled at that.

"Oh, just saying, you're quite good at deceiving yourself," he remarked flippantly.

"Are you my therapist?"

Dolohov's smile grew. He stepped closer to him, blue eyes intently fixed on Harry's face now.

"That would require a more _intimate_ relationship."

Harry's eyebrows rose and he locked eyes with the taller wizard, ignoring the vociferous crowd in the distance, including the teachers.

The tempestuous magic around them was very easy to sense tonight and Harry took a moment to revel at the feeling of sheer power in the air, how it surrounded him, cloaked him like a protective mantle against the outside world. He watched Dolohov's face, noting absently how the boy's pupils dilated. Harry also could see the small dimples that were giving Filipp a certain softness to his features. In turn, Dolohov's hand reached out, swiping a lock of black hair away from Harry's face, before fingers were starting to trace the pattern of his famous scar. Harry didn't flinch, which surprised him. He could barely stand it when people tried to touch him these days.

"What are you-" Harry asked, but the boy's hand didn't withdraw.

"I pity you, Harry Potter," Filipp whispered, drawing closer. Harry stilled, somewhat shocked, before anger overtook his mind. Pity him? What the hell?

Over Dolohov's shoulder Harry suddenly noticed something that disturbed him even more.

Julian Moline was staring in their direction, his eyes darkened with an inscrutable look as he took in the scene.


	7. Strength and Weakness

**DISCLAIMER:** The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

Note: Thanks for your reviews and your detailed thoughts. I really enjoy going through it :)

**Chapter 7: Strength and Weakness**

_November 14, 1945_

_Caractacus Burke is a dreadful specimen; the kind of man that strikes hard bargains to attain that which does not belong to him. I must confess I remain hesitant to sell my beloved set of Goblin-made armour. Such a rarity. Though he offered an outrageous sum of 500 Galleons for it, it disturbs me greatly to simply hand over valuable silver that is near indestructible. And while it is my belief that those ghastly creatures do not belong to our respectable society, they are useful at times._

_Today marks the second week since I started my negotiations with my lovely Tom who is frequently visiting me on behalf of his employer. He is unspeakably beautiful. _

_And his talent is wasted._

_How could this fine individual lower himself as to work for Borgin and Burkes?_

_I have offered him an assistant position, of course. My collection is immeasurable, and it remains quite difficult to catalogue the items I possess. My Tom -humble and grateful as only he could ever be- declined. _

_It makes me anxious and fearful of the day he shall depart, leaving me behind. It's a confession I don't want to make. But perhaps I have prolonged these negotiations unnecessarily._

_To be honest, I can't bear to part with him. I can't bear to return to endless days of useless frivolities and sheer loneliness, only spending my days in the company of my house-elf and fools who believe they can tarnish the image of the great descendant of Helga Hufflepuff. Tom Riddle is the only one who respects me. Understands me even._

_He is but the final reward of my collection, the priceless and unique gem that I always craved._

_Today he even brought me flowers. Beautiful Gladioli… Men these days could certainly learn a few things from the younger generation._

_Yes, I desire him._

_I believe that my desire, inappropriate as it is with our age differences, should be fulfilled. _

_Of course, he returns my feelings. How could he not?_

_Our beauty completes the painting, the canvas of our eternal and sublime passion for each other. I want to tell him-_

Harry nearly threw the book away after reading that section, but continued nonetheless, forcing himself to focus on the literal garbage the woman had produced a long time ago. Hepzibah Smith was certainly…intense. On and on it went with long detailed descriptions of this Tom Riddle persona, detailing the flawless complexion of the boy's skin, or the way his "delicate, exquisite hands" reached out to caress her own. However, deep down Harry could already see the way this was going. He'd certainly caught on to the symbolism of the various flowers the boy had gifted her with, the subtle manipulations coated in sweet promises. Tom Riddle never promised things that went beyond polite client relationship, keeping his distance while luring her in at the same time. Harry couldn't quite stifle the uneasiness he felt with each entry.

Not even the old lady seemed to realize this, although he sometimes got a certain troublesome feeling from the way she was describing Riddle.

From what he learned of Smith, she seemed to collect priceless artifacts, but rarely bothered to learn all there was to know about them, remaining clueless at times or willfully ignorant.

He was nearly through reading the journal, which had contained next to nothing about wands or relations to Dark Lords. She never mentioned the war, which she had lived through. She never mentioned Grindelwald. Instead she chatted endlessly about problems that really didn't seem to matter. Harry also thought it was a bit over the top to claim relation to Helga Hufflepuff over and over again.

The journal couldn't be used as a portkey anymore, so he had no means to contact Mykew again to clarify certain things. Even if he could, it was too risky to try.

He turned the page, almost reaching the end.

_December 10, 1945_

_My beloved Tom requested to see my pride and joy. Hufflepuff's Cup, which I showed to him without hesitation. I wanted, no, needed to impress the young man with my ancestor's background and indeed, it worked. I was delighted. _

_Of course, he was also suitable impressed, his stunning eyes intently fixed on the object. However…_

_Something happened today. It was something that I can't really explain. It's rather difficult to grasp._

_I saw a glint in Tom's eyes, which-_

_It frightened me, to be perfectly honest._

_It looked unnatural and turned his kind and beatific features into something I've never seen on him before._

_Slytherin's locket seemed to heighten that impression, which I honestly don't understand. I-_

_I'm alone now. __Why did this happen? And why am I questioning myself so much?_

_I'm so very tired -_

The next part was completely crossed out and Harry could't decipher it.

_Just minutes ago, I sent an owl to my estranged grand-niece, Carolina._

_It was a choice I wouldn't have made yesterday, but I don't like this feeling I have now. I'm on edge, but my instincts never betrayed me._

_Her family didn't approve of my person or the choices I made with regards to my wealth, but I have fond memories of my time with her, babysitting the girl when others couldn't bother; the priceless gifts I gave to her in hopes to keep contact with my family members. I hope she replies. It's vital that she does. _

_Last I heard she planned on eloping with a wealthy Moroccan donor. It's not surprising in the least-_

Again, Harry had a hard time reading that last part. Several words were rewritten, almost illegible. He touched the old parchment, narrowing his eyes in concentration.

_Hokey seems very confused lately. I suppose I must acquire a new house-elf, which is simply too bothersome for me to deal with now. I have other more pressing matters._

_Something else happened today. It added to my stress, but I fear I am getting caught up in politics that go beyond my capabilities._

_December 12, 1945_

_I received a missile from those abrasive and direful men and women who insist on requiring the Dementor's parts I possess. Not even over my dead body shall I give these pieces up. Obviously, their requests are laughable. And, arrogant as these people are, they even provided a list for me to peruse; items such phoenix tears, Acromantula hair and even the teeth of a Basilisk. They demanded I give up my precious preservation of a Chimaera's body and the head of an ancient Sphinx, items which have been in my possession for years._

_Unbelievable._

_These people have no shame, having hounded me for half a year now, in fact right after that dreadful business in Germany, which I don't want to even remember. Really, I have it in mind to send a letter full of Ogre snot in return, just to spite them._

_But there is more to these requests, for it simply is something too disturbing to mention._

_The rumors are turning out to be true, I believe._

_It disgusts me._

_Women and men alike disappear these days, respectable wizards and witches of notorious background, people whose reputations eclipse that of the common man. Of course, someone of my standing might be targeted, which is why I have taken measures to pass on my knowledge, should anything befall me._

_The news remain vague and cause too much panic, detracting from any celebrations that were held in light of Dumbledore's victory this summer. Which is good in a way, I suppose. The hypocrites were getting too comfortable for my tastes. However, I believe that whatever happened to these people involves the men who insist on acquiring parts of my collection._

_It's an unfounded suspicion, but the disappearance of Belvina Burke nee Black caused an even greater concern amongst our community. I heard Herbert Burke was beside himself._

_He loved her dearly._

_Her body or what remained of it was -it's difficult for me to describe…_

_There are signs that point towards this group of people, men who go above and beyond to achieve their goals, whatever these are. Her death is the only clue I have, though._

_I don't want anything to do with this. Nor will I allow my profession and my legacy to fall into their hands-_

_Tom, I wish-_

Tear tracks and spots were all over the parchment as Harry reached the last line; it was nothing more than a random assortment of numbers, which didn't make sense in this context. He tried to find whether there was something missing or if a page has been ripped off, but the journal was in an otherwise good condition, except the last part.

He stared into nothingness, trying to unravel whatever this was about.

It was so much worse than he initially thought, though. Nothing was said about his wand, but the warnings of the old witch rang true.

Whatever these two wandmakers were up to, it obviously involved the same kind of business that these "unknown messengers" have dealt with, hoping to acquire exotic magical items for unknown purposes. Harry didn't think Carolina or Gregorovitch were necessarily bad people or part of a criminal underground organization that kidnapped famous wizards.

The coincidences were too straightforward, however. He had noticed their interest in him and the way they had practically thrown his wand at him without so much as a manual to help. He even suspected that Karkaroff's part in the whole game was less than innocent.

The one main clue that stayed on his mind now was the fact that there was an unknown player involved in this whole mess between dark wizards and light ones. A person who was immoral enough to kill people and was deeply involved in shady black market business. Someone who probably had a few experts and wandmakers at the ready to do these so called "failed experiments" as Gregorovitch had called them. And it wasn't the Dark Lord.

So where did that leave him now?

Harry carefully packed his bag, making sure that the journal was properly warded.

Saturday was a relatively relaxed affair. Samhain had been a welcoming change, but the students had quickly fallen back into their daily routine, practicing more dark magic and annoying their professors. Harry had stayed out of it for the most part, but tried to be more social over the last couple of weeks. More and more people could now look beyond the facade of the Dark Lord's enemy and actually tried to get to know him, seeing him as one of them after the bonfire and festivities. He humored them and even enjoyed some of the talks with his peers, especially Krum's fan club.

But when Eileen bluntly told him that something was wrong with him, Harry couldn't really deny it any longer, no matter how comfortable he got over the last couple of months.

He suffered from depression and symptoms which were most likely triggered by the "German disaster". When his lack of appetite and mood started to affect his performance in class, Harry had reluctantly taken the time to evaluate the situation.

The problem was that you couldn't really remain calm or just simply get better when you dealt with something as grave as mental health problems.

When people started to ask if something was wrong or if he needed help, it annoyed him even more, because these idiots just didn't understand it at all.

Harry knew that people meant well, but taking a potion or visiting the infirmary wouldn't solve his issues.

When he confessed his problem to a ghost, he felt more than silly. But Eileen had taken it in stride and even told him she was proud of him for trying to be honest with himself and for tackling his suffering. Just yesterday she had confessed that her son had dealt with similar problems for the most part of his life, and that it wasn't something that Harry should expect to solve easily.

Needless to say, Harry would need to adapt, although he refused to talk to a wizarding equivalent of a therapist. His only remaining drive was the need to get better, and stronger. To master his magic and realize his potential that so many others often talked about.

His need for survival overrode his need to simply disappear. And that was the one thing Harry would hold onto.

He left the deserted third floor corridor and made his way to the Great Hall.

He'd have to re-read Hepzibah's entries at some point. And he would have a word with Smith's relative, Ms. Yassine, if he ever managed to find the old witch again.

* * *

"Hey Potter, did you hear the news?" another boy asked, leaning forward, almost throwing an entire plate of mashed potatoes on Danielle's lap in the process. She glared at him fiercely.

"What news?" he asked, somewhat bored.

The other boy seemed encouraged, though.

"The latest gossip, of course. Word has it you shacked up with your roommate Dolohov."

Harry nearly spat out his pumpkin juice.

"What?" Danielle said, completely shocked, stabbing her potatoes with too much force.

Some people sniggered while listening in, giving Harry pointed looks. Harry looked around, now noticing all these people who were watching him in return, waiting for confirmation.

What the hell?

"Don't listen to him Potter, he's just jealous," Mercia Robards, who was sitting across from him, murmured, her tone dismissive. The other boy glowered at that.

"Eh-" Harry started, but someone else beat him to it.

"Mind your own business, Odgen," another voice cut in and Harry turned to see Dolohov standing right behind him, eyeing the crowd with something akin to disdain.

He was tense.

Harry didn't quite know what to think of the gossip, but it seemed like most people around them seemed to treat his "love affair" as fact.

"Can I have a word with you, Potter? In private, if possible?" Dolohov asked, turning to face him, his expression now impassive. Harry sighed inaudibly, but nodded, now realizing what he'd have to talk about.

Filipp has avoided him in the last weeks, reverting to old behavior around him. It was time they talked about this.

Harry quickly stood and left the table, ignoring the whistling and catcalls from his classmates.

They crossed the threshold and Harry caught Krum's look on his way out.

He would have to talk to the third year about certain problems as well. He owed Viktor and the fact that the other boy hasn't demanded answers yet was a huge surprise for Harry. Usually people didn't just risk suspension without asking for details.

They went to an abandoned classroom close to the hall and Harry put up a silencing ward, not quite ready to talk about this embarrassing stuff, certainly not with a potential audience.

He leaned against a table and crossed his arms, waiting for Dolohov to collect himself as well.

The taller boy was scratching his head awkwardly, before standing with his hands on his hips, looking contumacious.

"Well?" Harry asked.

Dolohov rolled his eyes.

"Don't pretend you aren't embarrassed by this, Potter?"

Harry turned away from him. 'So Dolohov wanted to play the hard way,' he thought.

"I'm not nearly as bothered by this as you are, Filipp" Harry smiled pleasantly, not hiding the edge in his tone. "And if you remember correctly, it was actually you who started this crap," he reminded him.

"And I apologized right after, if you remember," the taller boy shot back, frowning at Harry.

"Which means nothing. You practically molested me in public and then didn't do squat to halt these rumors. One could think you enjoy them," Harry suggested and Dolohov's reaction was instantaneous. He snarled, taking a couple of steps forward.

"You wish, Potter. Besides, that wasn't me molesting you, no matter what you think. I was just messing around, but you're making a bigger deal out of it than it was," he laughed, staring him down. "Or did you think I was really, what? Attracted to you?"

Harry stared in disbelief.

"Attracted? Merlin, no. But then you could at least tell me what this was about!"

"As I said-" Dolohov began. "I was just messing around. To be honest, me approaching you had nothing to do with what you think. I wasn't planning on doing…that."

"You nearly kissed me," Harry scrunched up his nose, not wanting to be reminded of that or his own passive reaction.

"Thank Mordred, I didn't. But there was a reason for my behavior," Filipp suddenly deflated, cringing visibly.

"Yes, I'm all ears," Harry prompted, but Dolohov seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say.

"Fine, Potter. It was…your magic," Filipp said. Harry looked doubtful, not quite seeing the connection.

"My magic."

The other boy noticed Harry's look and smiled again.

"Don't tell me you didn't feel it," he mumbled. "But then, most people wouldn't, at least not in the beginning." He relaxed a bit.

"I don't understand," Harry admitted, but Dolohov didn't seem deterred.

"You reeked of it, Potter. It was absolutely fantastic," he grinned, staring at Harry in a way that made him uncomfortable.

Filipp sighed after seeing Harry's lack of reaction.

"Too bad I have to explain everything to you. Anyway, you reeked of it. And do you know what happens during Samhain?"

Harry frowned in thought.

"I guess it's when magic becomes the strongest, making itself more visible to people who aren't that sensitive to it," Harry guessed, suddenly seeing the point.

"Exactly," Dolohov beamed at him and it really creeped Harry out.

"Honestly, Potter. You should be proud of yourself. It's extremely rare for magic to manifest itself in that way. And I wasn't the only one who was affected by your presence," he added. "In fact, I guess most people were surprised that you were so in tune with the magic surrounding us, doing all the dark arts stuff a Potter would never do and giving off your own magic in turn," Dolohov finished, looking pleased with the outcome.

"I wasn't doing much," Harry clarified, but Filipp ignored that statement.

"It's not about what you do, but what you feel. If your magic reacts to your surroundings and becomes more noticeable to others in turn, it means that you have the means to access huge amounts of untapped sources. And we dark wizards are very much drawn to that kind of potential," he said.

That statement was foreboding to Harry who really didn't need that kind of attention.

"Don't worry, Potter. You were not the only one. I remember seeing someone from the fifth years who also showed that kind of aura. People were all over her. It happens."

"But what does that mean? That we are the next Dark Lords in the making or what? Because you're not the first one who insinuated something like that," he stated, somewhat befuddled. Filipp watched him intently.

"Well, no. Actually, it only means that you can practice many branches of magic that require a certain intuition and access to them, like warding or healing. Not many people can do that, especially not of the dark kind," Dolohov explained. "And to be perfectly honest, being a Dark Lord is not so much about how much power you have, but about the choices you make and whether our kind would accept someone as a representative for them."

Harry stepped away from the table.

"But Voldemo-"

"Stop saying his name!" Dolohov spat, but Harry ignored him. The whole name issue was completely ridiculous.

"_Voldemort_," Harry said pointedly, "didn't become a Dark Lord simply because he made a choice. He became one, because others chose him for his power and ambition. At least, that's what I read."

"Oh really? So you think all it takes for us to follow are nice speeches and magical strength to be persuaded, Potter?"

"Well, yeah, you just admitted you were drawn to my 'potential'" Harry said sarcastically, making air quotes.

Dolohov looked incensed.

"What a load of crap! Now listen to me very closely." Dolohov pointed a finger at him. "Being a lord of any kind isn't just about charisma or power. It's about ideals, morals and what people envision for the future of their kind."

Harry crossed his arms, unimpressed.

"If that's true, the Dark Lord's morals are lacking, if you haven't noticed. The first war was a disaster and not just because of what I did as a baby," Harry said.

"I never said our Dark Lord was an ideal leader. I just said that it takes more than power to become a figurehead," Filipp explained.

Harry noticed how the taller boy seemed oddly tenacious about this and while he could understand the point he was making, the fact that Filipp in some roundabout way dared criticizing his lord was interesting. He'd met these so called Death Eaters, but they behaved like any other person would. They looked like ordinary criminals and they even showed fear. What kind of grand leader inspired fear in his own followers? Of course, he was absolutely convinced Voldemort was bad news for these people, but why they followed this man in the first place was beyond him.

However, he could concede this point, especially since he's never actually met the elusive Dark Lord. Reading about this whole issue was probably much different from real life experiences.

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes, trying to get rid of his sudden fatigue.

"You haven't shown me any evidence to prove your claim, but do let me know if there's a Dark Lord who works in the best interest of your kind," Harry mocked, waving him off.

Dolohov's expression changed at that, but Harry missed it, turning around and heading for the door.

"And please do something about those rumors, I don't fancy being _your _boyfriend. Even in their imagination," said Harry and left the classroom, not looking back.

The next day Harry took some time to practice dueling with Viktor who was always pushing his limits with the repertoire the stoic Bulgarian showed. Most people wouldn't see the point trying to beat someone as skilled as Viktor, but Harry was determined, no matter how many bruises he got or how many times he landed on his ass, completely defeated.

They have found a classroom big enough to train properly, although the stone gargoyles and gruesome portraits didn't create a very inviting atmosphere.

"That last spell vas very good. You're getting better," Krum said while helping the young boy up.

None of this made him feel good about himself, but Harry could appreciate the sentiment.

"I still feel like I'm getting drained from time to time," Harry admitted.

He had filled Krum in on his business with the wand, leaving the more crucial details out, but surprisingly the older boy had taken it in stride, accepting his business for what it was.

Their weekly duels gave Harry much more physical practice, and he even delved deeper into healing, not quite wanting to believe that all it took to gain the wand's obedience was a simple kill.

It was all about determination in the end and the more determined Harry got to defeat his opponent or to heal Krum, getting rid of the more nasty spells he used, the better it worked in the end.

He didn't hear anything about Gregorovitch or Yassine, but he assumed they went into hiding, what with the Dark Lord's forces after them.

"Don't vorry. I suspect in a couple of months you vill be able to beat me," Viktor said and offered one of his rare smiles.

"Well, I hope so. Otherwise none of this would be useful," Harry said, dusting off his robes.

"Practice makes perfect and it's good that you're not relying on your vand to beat me. Many vizards are too arrogant and never use their body to defeat the opponent," Krum explained. Harry agreed with him soundlessly.

"That's my Muggle upbringing. Old habits die hard and I can't imagine just standing around and waving my wand in hopes that something happens."

"Da. Many people do that. You vill have an advantage," Krum said.

They both decided to call it a day and Viktor extended an invitation to hang out with his third year peers, which Harry accepted gladly. He had noticed that his panic attacks and general anxiety tended to disappear if he talked to people in a more friendly environment. Being alone triggered things, which is why Harry decided it would be better to be more social with the right kind of people. He was glad for the opportunity.

Unfortunately, his day was about to turn worse. A student approached them and handed Harry a note, telling him that Karkaroff wanted to see him and that it was urgent.

"Vat does it say?" Krum leaned over Harry while he was reading the note.

"Not much. I have no idea what this is about," Harry said, crumpling the parchment in his hand.

"Be careful, Potter," Krum advised and Harry nodded, knowing very well that the old man liked to play games, only telling him whatever he deemed important enough for the young wizard to know.

They parted ways and Harry went to the Headmaster's office, politely greeting students on his way.

He reached his destination and a gruff voice told him to enter.

* * *

Harry observed the foe glass, noticing the shadows. None of them were very clear, though. The silence felt uncomfortable to him, but then he never really felt all that comfortable around the older wizard.

„Please read this," Karkaroff said and handed Harry another copy of the Daily Prophet.

What was it with people always forcing him to read all that rubbish?

Harry picked up the paper and scanned the headlines and article on the front page.

His eyes instantly landed on an image of a dead girl lying in a puddle of her own blood. He recognized her.

It was Amy. The Muggle girl who had given him money to survive. In fact, all of her friends he'd seen that night were apparently dead and the article went into detail, describing how these Muggles were murdered. What did get his attention was the fact that the entire wizarding world now knew that these people were "the last ones who have seen Harry Potter."

Just _great_.

Harry handed back the paper and stared at Karkaroff, green eyes hardening in resolve behind round rimmed glasses.

"Is it true?" Karkaroff asked and Harry nodded, confirming the man's worst thoughts.

"And do you know what that means?" the old man persisted.

"No matter who's behind this, they wouldn't have found out anything useful about me," Harry explained, but Karkaroff scoffed at him.

"Useful? The fact that people might get an idea that you're still alive and well is enough reason to take this seriously. Do you have any idea what's been going on around you, while you were planning your expedition to Germany? Anything at all?"

"Enlighten me, then, sir," Harry voiced biliously.

"Very well, boy. Durmstrang is currently surrounded by spies and the Dark Lord's most trusted are invading key ministry positions. And don't look at me like that, Potter," Karkaroff snarled, noticing Harry's blank stare. "I know very well just as much as you do -thanks to your foolishness- that the Dark Lord is back. And I have no clue how he achieved that. But his people, my ex-comrades are busy undermining my authority in this school. And someone is after you! Which means they have found out about us!"

"You only have yourself to blame, sir," Harry crossed his legs, undeterred by this development. He'd known for a while that it was stupid to believe he could hide for seven years straight and beyond, if a Dark Lord was after him.

"Very clever, Potter. The thing is, people are requesting to inspect the school's curriculum, which is nothing more than a poor excuse to see you and confirm their suspicions. Family members of Death Eater children asked to visit the school. And some British purebloods have been gallivanting around the Norwegian Ministry, more so than usual. In fact, I just got a request from Yaxley of all people to have a meeting on neutral ground." Karkaroff ended his rant. He was visibly agitated.

"I assume this Yaxley person is a Death Eater. And apparently you can't rely on the secrecy ward if the ministry interferes. But then I've heard the Norwegians are on your side, so I don't really see a problem here," Harry said. Well, he'd heard about it from Moline.

Not a very trustworthy source.

"Your family has been interrogated by the British Ministry and Dumbledore's people," Karkaroff informed him.

Harry paled at that, not quite ready to envision this scenario. The Dursleys probably told the Aurors absolutely everything about him, his habits, his behavior.

"People are onto us, boy, no matter what I do," Karkaroff started. "Therefore we must do something that will pre-empt all attempts to control this situation." He sighed, rubbing the spot between his eyes, before his eyes pinned Harry down with a glare.

"I was hoping you would be stronger by then, ready to defend yourself even against Death Eaters, but we have no other choice. If we can't do it by magical means, we have to do it the legal way until you're ready to kill the Dark Lord," Karkaroff explained.

"And that means…" Harry asked, dreading the answer.

„I'm taking you to see the Norwegian minister and you'll be introduced to the dreary world of politics," the headmaster declared.

Silence reigned in the office and from the corner of his eyes Harry could almost see the shadowy figures in the foe glass getting closer, ready to capture him.

"What?"

"You heard me. You'll be dealing with all that stuff that comes with being the half-blood heir of the Potters, including all the protections your family name provides. And you'll be protected by the law and not just by me," Igor said.

"But I don't have access to anything yet. And even if I start dealing with politics, I'm still underage and technically under British Ministry law. They have all the power over me. Not the Norwegians," Harry reasoned, quickly finding flaws in Karkaroff's plan. He didn't think political power was enough to protect himself from attempts at his life. And while he could appreciate that he would no longer be a prisoner in this school, there were too many things that could go wrong. By Merlin, he would be thrown right into the public's eye. One kidnapping attempt was all it took to bring him to Voldemort.

"True, but there's a way out of it," Karkaroff threw in, stroking his beard in thought. "It would be best if you claim fugitive status and renounce your British wizarding citizenship. Remove all your assets and your name from their influence and become a citizen of Norway. This way you'll have an independent ministry as your support system rather than weaklings like Fudge."

Harry tensed.

"I don't think the Dark Lord cares about national borders or ministry issues. If he wants me dead, and he absolutely does, then I will be dead if I'm _not more powerful than him_," Harry exclaimed.

"I didn't survive this long, because I was on my own, Potter. The Norwegian Ministry has always opposed the Dark Lord. I had their trust, so to speak. Now it's up to you to gain it. And if anything, this will buy us enough time to figure out how to kill the Dark Lord," Karkaroff said calmly. "And more importantly, you'll have access to your vaults and any safe houses of the Potters, if they have any. You'll be able to stand on your own feet," the old man said. "I can't give you the full protection you need," he admitted finally.

Harry wavered, not quite sure how to proceed. He needed time to think this through. Karkaroff, noticing his hesitation, narrowed his eyes.

"You'll have until winter break to decide. I can hold off my "friends" for now. But eventually some people will enter this castle with the intention to find out more about you, if not planning to get you away from my authority. And it won't be safe. Other than me, you have close to no one who could effectively hide you away," the old man said.

"What you need is time and people in positions of power."

Harry nodded.

"I'll think about it." With that Harry stood, leaving the headmaster's office with another burden on his back. Karkaroff's expression changed, showing rare concern for the young boy.

Harry was unsure what to do, as he made his way back to his dorm.

Not only was there a group of people who were experimenting on wizards for some unknown reason, but now he had Voldemort's forces wanting to step foot inside the castle under some pretext. And he wasn't strong enough to fight on his own. Not yet.

On top of that, the British wizarding world was hungry for more news about Harry Potter.

'Well, I'll give them something to chew on', Harry thought grimly. He headed straight for the library, planning on doing more research. He needed to know more about a certain prophecy and how to get access to it.


	8. What's a Dog without a Master

**DISCLAIMER:** The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

Note: Thanks for your reviews, favs and follows. Some people are really excited about the political turn, while others might not like it too much. But as the summary suggested, Harry will indeed become something of a politician in the future. That's something I had planned right from the beginning, so I apologize to people who didn't want that for him. Being a politician won't certainly be the only job for Harry though. And most definitely not the most important one. Rather it's the means to an end, as we will see along the way.

Anyway, on with the story. Enjoy :)

* * *

**Chapter 8: What's a Dog without a Master**

Dinner with the Dark Lord was always an exquisitely tense affair, Yaxley thought morosely.

His Lord didn't make a habit of these events, no doubt preferring to spend his time in a more useful manner. But pureblood etiquette required social gatherings and outlandish events; a habit which their Lord used as an opportunity for more political maneuvering.

It was times like these when Yaxley preferred to observe his fellow comrades and his Lord rather than engaging in small talk. One could never get enough information after all.

Yaxley prided himself on staying alert at all times, not letting himself get comfortable or overly cocky like the rest of his so called "friends".

He didn't think much of them anyway and he was quite aware of the fact that anyone present in this room would sell each other out if given the opportunity to rise in the ranks. Or in the Dark Lord's estimation.

That was the downside to working with murderers, rapists, liars and the scum of their current society. Not that he was any better in that regard, though.

They were currently seated in one of the more lavishly decorated parlors of his ancestor's manor in Wiltshire. As a host, his attentiveness was required, so he made a point to provide whatever was necessary. Mostly it was alcohol for idiots like Goyle. Though he didn't miss Malfoy's looks of veiled disgust when he inspected the tableware. Apparently, nothing was good enough or expensive enough for Lucius even in their Lord's presence.

It's been less than half a year since his Lord's return, but it still felt like yesterday.

In fact, the whole resurrection business really came out of nowhere in his opinion. As one of the lower-ranked Death Eaters he hadn't been privy to the more sensitive information regarding the man's return and even now they were only told the very basics or less.

To be honest, it kind of stung.

Yaxley took a sip of his Brandy, his dark eyes fixed on the pathetic creature Wormtail who was currently standing in a corner tending to the Dark Lord's pet Nagini. The fool was quaking in his boots.

How that ugly, dumb man could be such a high-ranked, trusted servant was beyond him.

After his Lord's return, Yaxley had quickly fallen back into his old role of a political advisor, making use of his established contacts in the Ministry to help their cause. It was a slow affair to him.

He'd gotten off with a relatively light punishment compared to others, but Yaxley was aware it would take time and effort to regain the Dark Lord's favor.

They haven't done all that much lately anyway.

His eyes zeroed in on the Dark Lord for a second, which wasn't something he normally allowed himself to do. But it was hard to resist. Harder even to pretend it didn't affect him.

The man was _impressive_. No doubt about that.

There was no other word for that kind of magic and charisma he was exuding, and it reminded Yaxley time and time again that following him was absolutely worth it. So much that he'd die for the cause.

Their Lord was currently going through another report, not paying the slightest bit of attention to his followers, although the Death Eater didn't fool himself for even a second. Yaxley knew perfectly well that the man was aware of all important bits and pieces of conversations that were flowing around him.

The man could be frighteningly observant without being obvious about it. And as a powerful and accomplished Legilimens it took one look to pluck out everything from their minds, including the slightest wisps of treachery.

Yaxley looked down, tightening his hold on his glass.

Yes, that was the price he had to pay for following someone to battle. His business automatically became the Dark Lord's business. No option for privacy left.

A hand clasped his shoulder, startling him from his thoughts.

"You're uncharacteristically silent, Yaxley. Didn't take you for the broody type," Greengrass murmured, only removing his hand when Yaxley pointedly looked at it.

He made a sweeping motion with his arm after carefully putting down his glass. "Talking to those dimwits is a waste of my time, don't you think?" he mouthed.

"So I'm worth it then? Since you're making an effort now." The portly man chuckled, finding humor in his words.

"Don't flatter yourself," he shot back, rolling his eyes in return.

"I was just wondering. Usually it's Snape who looks like he can't stand our company, but I didn't think you'd try to emulate him."

"Very funny, Greengrass."

The other wizard looked amused, but his expression turned serious after a moment.

"What's Snape doing anyway? Did you hear anything?" he asked, scratching his chin. Greengrass looked like he'd never heard of a razor or spell to shave properly. It wasn't a pleasant sight.

Yaxley took another chance to look at the Dark Lord instead, before replying.

They were all quite good at pretending that they could talk so informally, but Greengrass was just as tense as the rest.

"Probably sucking off Dumbledore as we speak," he said. The other Death Eater grimaced at that.

The rest of the table was engaged in their own conversations, mostly keeping their voices down, mindful of the man at the head of the table. Greengrass was apparently more than bothered by Snape's continuos absence.

"Don't remind me. Snape's really walking a fine line here. He hasn't even bothered to show his face the last time we planned the Berlin attack."

"That's probably because he has better things to do," Yaxley replied, not very comfortable with the sudden turn in their conversation.

"Like what? Assigning detentions to brats? Scrubbing cauldrons?" He looked skeptical and Yaxley could understand why.

In a way, it was quite disturbing to know that all of them were putting their lives on the line in direct battle, while half-bloods such as Snape remained hidden in the safety of Dumbledore's castle. It didn't seem fair.

"We shouldn't question whatever mission Snape's working on. If our Lord trusts him, that should be enough for us," Yaxley parroted back, not quite believing his own words. He was suddenly acutely aware of piercing, crimson eyes on him. Even Octavian Greengrass stiffened at that, sensing more than a few pairs of eyes on them, eager and even fearful to see what would happen, now that their Lord's attention was on them. Even Lucius looked curious.

"You're right, of course."

They took a moment to calm their racing hearts, waiting for the Dark Lord to focus on the report again.

He didn't.

Desperate to turn this situation around, Yaxley chose to address the first thought that entered his mind.

"Have you heard anything from Macnair?" he asked instead, breathing shakily.

"I guess, you weren't there the last time we talked about this," Octavian mumbled, glad to talk about something else after his faux pas. Yaxley nodded. "I was too busy cleaning up after you in the Ministry," he replied with a low voice.

It was true. He'd missed the reports from last week.

Most of the Death Eaters returned to their conversations when nothing spectacular happened, but the Dark Lord held a glass of Whiskey in his hand, dismissing the reports in disinterest for now.

"Well, there wasn't much. Most people believe he was captured by the wandmaker," Greengrass said, relaxing a bit when the Dark Lord's attention wavered, crimson eyes observing the amber liquid instead. But Yaxley didn't think they were off the hook yet.

"Really?" he asked, surprised.

And it was surprising. There were several conclusions he'd come to after finding out about Macnair's disappearance in Germany. Kidnapping wasn't the first one and most definitely not the logical choice, considering whom they were dealing with.

"Doubtful?" Octavian asked, raising his thick, prominent eyebrows.

Yaxley took another drink, regaining his control and wondering how to explain this.

"You could say that," he confirmed, putting down his glass again.

"Well?"

They stared at each other, each seemingly lost in thought. Yaxley still felt Lucius' heavy and speculative gaze on them, but he pretended they didn't really have an audience, which was a bit ludicrous. He couldn't help it, though. The whole setting wasn't exactly private.

"It's just odd. If you used your brains, you'd know that there's no way Gregorovitch could've incapacitated Macnair that easily and without leaving traces," Yaxley went on, remembering the reports and strategies he'd read about.

"Jugson and Gibbon were Macnair's backup and they were responsible for keeping an eye on the other side of the building. Gregorovitch on the other hand fled using the front door, so what the hell happened in the back?" he mused. "No witnesses, no nothing. And Walden doesn't strike me as the disloyal type. He wouldn't disappear without a word," he concluded.

Both Gibbon and Jugson weren't here to confirm his speculations, but something was really off about this whole thing. Greengrass frowned.

"You can't know that. Walden was just as stupid as the animals he liked to execute. Maybe he'd gone into the shop and acted on his own. He tended to do that. Jugson said they lost sight of him at some point."

"That doesn't mean much. And honestly, both of them don't have a clue how to follow simple orders. I just think there's more to it than Gregorovitch pulling another one of his stunts," Yaxley said, turning his thoughts on some of the past events and dealings with the wandmaker. The old fool had always been sly, but he'd never been a fighter.

"Do you suggest there was an accomplice?" Greengrass seemed to find that idea even more surreal.

"I didn't say that. I simply think it's foolish to assume this case is so clear-cut. So the best way to deal with it would be consider that we have more enemies than that."

Greengrass smirked at that. "Always so diligent and paranoid, my friend." Yaxley did roll his eyes this time, exasperated and worn out.

"I didn't get my position within the Ministry by doing nothing. You should learn how to watch your back and how to cover all options," he said. It felt odd, giving advice to someone he wasn't close to, but it was also inconvenient to facilitate his comrade's stupidity. Yaxley fully intended to win this war. But they wouldn't win it with people in their midst who didn't have some common sense at least.

Greengrass patted his back, apparently dismissing his seriousness in favor of getting drunk.

Disgusting.

Picking up his own glass, Yaxley wasn't surprised when he felt his Lord's eyes on him again.

He wasn't sure whether this attention was a sign of approval or maybe a clear indication that he'd stepped out of line.

Thankfully, he was saved from further trouble when Rookwood turned to Lucius, engaging the proud man in a conversation that immediately got people talking enthusiastically.

The topic of Karkaroff's dealings always revealed a lot, providing new entertainment for them. Yaxley couldn't help but agree. The traitor was as good as finished.

Soon, Durmstrang and Norway would fall into their hands. And honestly, he really couldn't wait for that to happen. He couldn't wait to see all of Europe bow down to the dark. The victorious side.

The Dark Lord stood abruptly, turning his back to them and walking over to one of the arched windows, his tall frame seemingly gliding through the room. The lively conversation amongst the Death Eaters immediately stopped.

Yaxley subtly glanced at the man in order to gauge his mood. He couldn't detect anything, though.

His master was dressed in black robes of a very light material.

As Yaxley's eyes traveled down the impressive form of the man, he could appreciate it for what it was. The robes were most definitely expensive, no doubt about that; yet so unlike the flashy style Malfoy and Greengrass preferred.

Lord Voldemort remained silent, though, observing the grounds intently.

Yaxley wondered what it was that caught his Lord's attention. Eventually, their master addressed one of them.

"I wonder, Augustus. You seem so eager to witness Igor's downfall." The deceptively calm and low voice of the Dark Lord cut through the silence like a sharp knife.

Rookwood's hitched breath could be heard quite clearly; a traitorous reaction that not many Death Eaters usually allowed themselves to show.

"My Lord?" he inquired.

Even Peter Pettigrew's attention was drawn to Voldemort, temporarily forgetting that he was supposed to watch over a dangerous, carnivorous reptile.

Some people were confused, however. Everybody in the room knew why Rookwood in particular wanted Karkaroff dead.

"You are downright vindictive these days. And yet…" Here, he turned to fix crimson eyes on the spy. Augustus cringed visibly, his pock-marked skin turning sickly pale.

"Yet, it took years for you to act upon it, breaking out of your prison and leaving your comrades behind to join me. And by doing that," the Dark Lord stated darkly. "You've revealed _more than you should have_."

Yaxley caught on immediately. And he absolutely agreed with his master.

Rookwood, useful as he's been in the past for his contacts with the Unspeakables, effectively and single-handedly ruined any and all chances to strike the Ministry and Azkaban when they were unprepared. His miraculous breakout has been on the cover of the Daily Prophet, headlining the stunt, and despite the Ministry's reassurances that no mass army was currently assembling, people were still frightened. And being scared meant that they had time to prepare mentally if not magically.

On top of that, the idiot did kill a couple of Muggle teenagers when news reached his ears that they had seen Harry Potter on the night the boy hero disappeared.

Whether he wanted to gain his Lord's favor by doing that or not, it was still incredibly stupid. The dead couldn't be tortured for information after all. And Rookwood had none, at least no more than the Aurors did. Crawling back empty-handed and boasting about Karkaroff's imminent demise was a useless maneuver.

"I beg your forgiveness, my Lord," he pleaded. "The Muggles didn't know much and I-"

"Silence!" the Dark Lord hissed, his magic rising and tainting the room with raw power. Yaxley shivered, goosebumps breaking out on his arms.

"You're still useful to me, as of now." Voldemort stepped back from the window and beckoned Nagini to him with a hiss.

"However, I don't accept failure. Your childish vendetta against Igor is unbecoming in light of the recent mission I gave you."

Most Death Eaters were wondering about this, since Augustus apparently had an important task assigned to him that included dealing with his old Department. They didn't know what it was about.

"Yaxley," the Dark Lord said quietly.

"My Lord." He inclined his head. It was never a good thing to be the sole focus of their leader, so he didn't quite manage to look him in the eyes, startled as he was. He did follow Nagini's movements, though, as she wound her heavy body around the man's legs, swiftly reaching his waist. A pale, long finger reached out to stroke the spot under her head.

"I assume Igor didn't bother to reply," the Dark Lord voiced, gazing intently at the serpent.

"No, my Lord. I do know the message was received, but the security around Durmstrang increased and we have no way of breaching the wards," he informed the man.

He was still wondering why he'd been ordered to contact the traitor directly, even going so far as to propose immunity. Lucius read his bewildered expression and smiled knowingly.

It was irritating.

"And Wilkes?" Voldemort asked lightly, uncaring.

"Unable to talk."

Silence met his statement and Greengrass shot him a curious look. Yaxley nodded in reply, while Rookwood remained quiet.

Durmstrang's Potions Master, just like everyone else in that school was bound by the Oath. And they didn't even know if Laurens Wilkes was still on their side.

They had no other option left than outright attacking the castle. And that would automatically declare war on the country, something that their side with its pitiful numbers was still unprepared for. Even with their comrades in Azkaban joining them eventually, they'd be outnumbered. Yaxley wondered about that as well.

The Dark Lord's focus on Durmstrang wasn't unusual, but Norway seemed like a lesser priority than England when it came to gaining a solid power base and more allies.

Of course, Durmstrang as the only magical school in Europe that focused on the Dark Arts was a vital component to make contacts across several countries and establish their empire. But they haven't even managed to infiltrate Fudge's pathetic band of employees yet. With the Dark Lord's return, they had to start from scratch. And this time, the man's priorities seemed off. More so than was normal, excluding the whole Potter business during the end of the First War.

There was more to it.

He knew there was more to it than gaining allies. Yaxley frowned in thought, deeply anxious.

With their Lord's attention elsewhere, Lucius suddenly turned to him.

"You look peeved," he observed, leaning forward.

"Your face tends to do that to people," Yaxley said, bored. Next to him, Greengrass chuckled. The fool was borderline drunk now.

Malfoy made an odd sound in the back of his throat, but persisted nonetheless.

"If you're wondering why you're dealing with Karkaroff so openly, I'm seriously questioning your intelligence, Yaxley," Lucius mocked, watching him with a malicious expression that seemed unnatural on his usually stoic, handsome features.

"Say what you want, Malfoy. Or shut up."

His eyes darted forward to see Nagini hissing contently, enjoying her master's touch. Voldemort's eyes rested on the Malfoy patriarch, though.

"Think for a moment. Once you corner a dog in a dead-end street, it will turn and bite. And Karkaroff's prone to making mistakes under pressure. It'll be easier to surround him once he starts to panic," he explained calmly as he steepled his fingers. Rookwood nodded in agreement and Yaxley could see the point. At some stage, they'd probably manage to force Karkaroff out of hiding.

However, deep down he had an inkling of his Lord's true intent. It seemed irrational and maybe he was wrong.

But apparently, it wasn't the dog that was being targeted.

No, it was someone else.

_The owner._

* * *

"Ich habe einen Hund gesehen…" Harry repeated, not quite sure how it sounded to his ears. Apparently, Danielle found his accent incredibly funny.

"Much better, Potter," she said. Harry didn't think he'd ever get the hang of it, though. German was incredibly difficult to learn and pronunciation was the least of his problems. He was already busy trying to catch up on Latin, which was a necessity in the wizarding world; so that was additional work he could've done without.

Harry sighed, leaning back and stretching his stiff muscles. They've been studying for hours now, but unlike him Danielle was somewhat of a perfectionist. She'd been drilling vocabulary into his head without mercy. It was torture.

"Already giving up?" she teased, closing her book.

The library was almost deserted, but some students were still working on their midterm assignments.

Thankfully, Harry had already finished with that, having only a couple of chapters left to read for Potions. Wilkes was a slave-driver.

So he used the opportunity to do some self-studying, although he wanted nothing more than to fall asleep.

He'd recently taken up the habit to use Calming Draughts. With the anxiety wrecking him constantly, it was almost impossible to fall asleep and not dream of blood on his hands or Death Eaters.

"Yeah, I admit defeat," Harry replied, eyeing the blonde witch with amusement, wiping his expression clear of any signs that he was worried about the dreams.

"How disappointing."

Some people nearby gave them odd looks, but Harry didn't care.

"Well, trashing your expectations is what I do best," he mocked and Danielle smiled in return.

"Expectations, Potter? Like what? Getting yourself a girl- or boyfriend? Or overcoming your star-crossed love for Dolohov?"

Harry snorted.

"I have you for that, love," he murmured. "You're my latest conquest after I got sick of Viktor."

Harry remembered the conversations he had with people over the last week. Really, boarding school was turning out to be nothing more than a petri dish for gossip.

Danielle's eyes became hooded and she inspected him more closely.

"You're not my type. No matter how pretty your face is. There's not enough meat on your bones."

Harry smiled and bowed his head, pushing down his exhaustion for the moment. Pretty face, eh?

"You wound me." He placed his hand upon his chest for good measure.

"Mission accomplished," she said. Her smile was rather infectious.

Honestly, Dan was right. Walking around like a zombie would only hurt in the long run. It wasn't something that a Calming Draught could fix, though. His initial drive to get better has dulled significantly, especially when he was faced with a mountain of tasks and conspiracies. Learning languages initially looked like a nice activity to pass the time, but when Danielle insisted he'd have to learn the hard way instead of cheating with magic, Harry's been swamped with even more pressure. Stuff that he wasn't forced to do, but that seemed important to him anyway.

Then there was also the Prophecy and Harry's incomplete knowledge on it.

It was a bit of an asshole move on his part, but the reason he bothered to get closer to Danielle also had to do with what he planned for next year. He didn't regret it though and it wasn't like his classmate was bothering him more than Dolohov was. In fact, it was the opposite.

Across the table, the blonde girl reached inside her pockets, as if on cue, and unfolded a map. The parchment looked very old and Harry squinted to make out the writing on top of it.

He's been waiting to get his hands on that thing for a while now.

It was the only blueprint of the Department of Mysteries in existence. And Danielle had taken a great risk on her behalf to get it for him, since her mother worked for the German Department of Mysteries and had access to all European departments only under strict supervision. To be honest, Harry didn't think he'd get it at all, but they managed and for that he felt grateful.

"You have one day with it, Potter. I don't want to see my mother getting carted off to Nurmengard," she stated and gripped the paper tightly, not wanting to just hand it over.

Harry nodded and gazed at her in a way that conveyed just how serious he was about it and that he wouldn't break his promise.

"I hope you know what you're doing," she said, understanding his gesture for what it was and somehow giving him the kind of unconditional trust that he'd never give to a person who was a stranger, more or less.

"It'll work out," he said and he convinced himself that it would. With that deal on his mind, he also thought about his classmate's family and why her mother, whom he'd never met, agreed to hand over such an item to her daughter without asking what it was for.

He'd have to find out later.

They both got ready to leave and Harry said his goodbyes, heading for his dorm and ignoring the portraits of drunk witches and wizards who were singing obnoxious Yuletide ballads.

Speaking of Yuletide, the decorating team of the Third Years was busy turning the castle into a makeshift garden full of Holly and Ivy. Even Krum seemed to enjoy the activity and he never enjoyed anything other than Quidditch and working out. The floating candles and torches were certainly impressive, though. Even Harry could admit that, considering that the Headmaster tended to be a bit economical with light.

Having grown up in the Muggle world, Harry liked to think of the fact that he'd never have to celebrate Christmas again, unless he somehow ended up at Hogwarts.

It was a relief in the sense that he didn't have to pretend he was happy while people around him enjoyed the time with their families.

Durmstrang wouldn't be open during the holidays anyway (a fact he welcomed), so all this fuss would eventually be over and done with.

Karkaroff seemed to agree with him on that.

Harry scowled, thinking of the old man's offer and his own decision that would most likely change his life in ways he couldn't predict.

With Yuletide came the impending date of doom with Norway's minister of magic. A person rumored to be one of the Dark Lord's fiercest political opponents. And Karkaroff's benefactor.

Harry hadn't told anyone about this new development, although he bothered to tell the Headmaster of his decision. But he sometimes felt Professor Moline's piercing eyes on him when Karkaroff was close by. Still, it was better to deal with a couple of greedy politicians rather than hiding like a coward at school and praying for a miracle that wouldn't come.

Harry threw open the door to his room and decided to ignore Dolohov who was already busy staring him down in that strange way of his. The Potter heir made sure that the map was pocketed securely, before removing his glasses.

He gathered himself and sat on his bed carefully, intending to go through several meditating exercises that Eileen claimed would help him calm down and guide the flow of his magic through his veins.

Filipp thankfully returned to reading his book on highly advanced Muggle torture and didn't bother him for the rest of the evening.

* * *

"Passable," Wilkes said neutrally, but Harry detected a hint of weariness in the Professor's tone. Today's last class consisted of a practical test in Potions that Harry wasn't sure he would pass. He didn't care, though. Neither did Wilkes, apparently.

Everyone except the Professor's would be leaving the castle today and most people were obviously excited to get the hell out of here.

Harry made sure his vial was labeled correctly before handing it over. He then proceeded to pack his bag and swiftly joined the rest of his classmates on the way out.

Someone tapped him on his shoulder and he turned around.

Daria Haworth, another first year who seemed to move in the same circles as Dolohov nodded and indicated that he should follow. Once they were outside, the dark-skinned girl handed him a note and he immediately recognized Karkaroff's scrawl.

"I don't know what you're up to, Potter, but let's hope for your sake it isn't as bad as some people made it out to be," she murmured and there was a hint of worry in her voice that he couldn't make sense of.

Harry shrugged. He had enough of people talking behind his back.

Daria backed away slightly, but shot him a curious look, hesitating a bit.

"It's just... I didn't take you for the silent follower type," she elaborated and Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes at this, having heard that accusation already from others.

"My business with Karkaroff is just that. My business," he said. "So I'd appreciate it if you told your friends not to concoct ridiculous gossip about me."

"Oh, so he bites. That's more like it." Daria smiled and turned away from him. Before leaving though, she smirked. "I expect great things from you. Being chained to that man doesn't really suit you at all. So you better don't disappoint." With that she left.

Harry frowned, but quickly turned his attention back to the note. He didn't have time for his classmate's nonsense.

As expected, they'd be leaving in a couple of hours. Harry crumpled the parchment in his hand and decided to go get changed, his mind already firmly recounting all he knew about the Ministry of Magic and Norway's leader.

Somehow he felt like he was walking into a trap.


	9. The Captive's Way

DISCLAIMER: The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

Note: I have uploaded this fic on AO3. You can find a link in my profile. The story will most definitely be revised again to correct typos and to check for grammar. I sometimes miss a couple of things even while re-reading and editing the chapters :/

Anyway, thanks for the comments and extensive feedback. I've noticed that some people might get worried about the slash aspect of the story in terms of age, since Harry is still so young. I've already explained it in the notes of my first chapter, though. Harry will get romantically involved with Voldemort when he's older (somewhere around 15/16, I guess), sexually (probably when he's off age). They will meet earlier than that obviously, but it's not gonna be the type of love where you fall for the guy instantly and forget about everything else. Both of them have plans and concerns that are more important than drooling over someone all the time. Hope that cleared it up :)

Enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 9: The Captive's Way**

Harry carefully hid his wand under the sleeve of his robes, making sure that the wand holster wasn't visible.

"Let's get this over with," Harry murmured mostly to himself and quickly left his dorm to meet up with Karkaroff outside the castle.

Durmstrang was mostly deserted now. Almost everyone had left to get back to their families, including the teachers. Even Professor Moline hadn't bothered to stay, although from what Harry knew, the man had no extended family left.

Harry stepped outside, ignoring one of the ghosts who waved him goodbye as he passed through the door.

Weird.

It was freezing cold and he was glad his robes were charmed to keep him warm.

Harry flexed his fingers nervously, hoping that today's revelations wouldn't add to the ever-growing pile of Boy-Who-Lived-related worries. Besides, he could defend himself properly this time and wouldn't have to fight against his own wand.

He approached Karkaroff quietly, mindful of the man's assessing gaze. The old man nodded in approval at Harry's attire once he managed to get a good look. Harry didn't acknowledge it. It wasn't like he was doing the old man a favor anyway. There were more important issues to deal with.

"Are there many Death Eaters staking out your position?" he asked curiously, catching the dark frown in Karkaroff's expression. The old fool looked contemplative and alert. But as far as Harry knew, they would apparate within the castle's wards and wouldn't have to deal with any Dark Lordish spies who were probably waiting outside, eagerly searching for a way to get in.

Karkaroff offered his hand.

"They come and go. But they can't see anything and they wouldn't be able to cross the barrier even with their own family members in here asking for it," the headmaster explained.

Well, that made sense, but it didn't make him feel any better.

"And they've been doing it for how long now?" Harry pushed.

"Not long enough for us to take more drastic measures."

What a non-answer.

Harry honestly thought that becoming a Ministry ward and revealing this whole mess to outsiders could definitely be called _drastic_. But he led it slide and grabbed the old man's hand.

* * *

This was another trip he'd reluctantly joined, but nevertheless could appreciate despite the grave circumstances.

In the last couple of months he'd come in contact with some important wizarding communities in Europe and now he could count Oslo to it, although there wasn't much sightseeing involved in any case.

Durmstrang was located in the northernmost region of Norway, so the trip to Oslo was less than pleasant in terms of distance. Karkaroff, however, was proficient in long distance and inter-continental Apparition, from what Harry had learned. The man was quite the escape artist.

He let go of Karkaroff's arm and carefully inspected the area.

They have appeared right in the middle of the Ministry's entrance hall from the looks of it. Harry turned his head and instantly recognized the layout from the vivid descriptions in one of the books about Norway's politics.

The Ministry of Magic was located in a hidden part of Oslo City Hall, which was the political and administrative heart for Muggles. Within walking distance he could even reach the Royal Palace.

Harry gave a knowing smile once his eyes took in the sheer affluence of this place.

It was all about appearances and status in the end.

Huge paintings covered the whole walls, depicting old Norse Mythology and stories Harry couldn't make sense of at first glance.

An intriguing picture that was located right in front of him showed wizards and witches building a house together, the moving figures stacking up stones and clay side by side with other creatures, like goblins and Veela. It was highly unusual.

"I take it you like this one," a rough voice spoke from behind him and Harry quickly averted his gaze. It was easy to get distracted in this place.

Harry noticed the Auror standing right next to Karkaroff who was looking disgruntled and impatient.

He nodded and quickly offered his hand to the man, not wanting to appear impolite. If he wanted to get something out of this whole mess, it was best to just play along for now.

"Yes, it's quite amazing," said Harry and the other man grasped his hand, shaking it firmly.

"It is, Mr. Potter. It is." The Auror bowed in proper pure-blood custom, giving Harry a secretive smile in return and then asked them follow him. They turned left, opening a door that was almost indistinguishable from the wall with the way it was covered in ornaments and drawings.

It took quite a while to reach the end of one of the corridors where the meeting would take place, but Harry's sharp gaze focused on the twists and turns, trying to remember the way out. Karkaroff seemed to know this place quite well though, wandering down the corridors as if on autopilot. Harry figured that after his trial the man had been a frequent visitor in the Ministry.

Lamentably, there wasn't much time to focus on the spectacular paintings or the way this place was statued with folklore and magic.

The Auror announced their arrival and Harry gathered himself mentally and physically. He'd either get something out of this deal, preferably some sort of political protection, or he'd get the hell out of here.

* * *

Everything they say about her was absolutely true in Harry's opinion.

The Headmaster and the Potter heir were currently seated in plush armchairs across from the Minister who was calmly returning their looks with one of her own, amusement evident in her expression.

Minister Marit Farnes represented both wealth, stubbornness and determination in the political sphere, moving effortlessly through opposing circles and charming even her fiercest critics with well-placed arguments and a cunning smile. Needless to say, Fudge didn't hold a candle to her and it showed.

Norway's magical economy was striving, while England was on its way to bankruptcy and corruption.

The Minister decided to break the silence and Harry's eyes danced quickly from one corner to another. He didn't really want to meet her eyes, having read that Farnes was proficient in Legilimency.

"I was honestly surprised when Igor contacted me and admitted to committing a crime so easily," said the stoic woman, her fingers tapping against the surface of the polished desk.

"You know why I did it, Marit," Karkaroff said, before taking a sip from his tea. Shifting slightly, Harry watched closely how the old man became tense under her scrutiny, fingers wrapping around the porcelain in a manner that was just a bit off.

Perhaps, the old goat was sensing a threat despite his informal form of address. It was something to think about.

"And you presume too much and know next to nothing. I didn't expect to see my country involved in a war we didn't want on our doorstep. So don't you think it's quite presumptuous to kidnap a famous child, enroll it to Durmstrang and then wash your hands of the problem when it gets too difficult to handle?"

Karkaroff bristled, but remained silent, which was something Harry could give him credit for. She'd just effectively pinpointed down the issue and didn't waste any time with explanations, belittling the man for his decisions instead.

Harry decided to step in. Not for the Headmaster's sake. But for his own.

"I'm sorry if my presence caused too much problems for you," said the boy, looking somewhere to the left.

"Oh, Mr. Potter. We shouldn't exchange meaningless reassurances. I don't believe you would care what your presence entails in a country you're unfamiliar with, surrounded by people you probably don't even trust," she shot back, her gaze boring into him knowingly.

"And now who's the one presuming things?" Harry said, smiling sharply. It was a new experience, talking to someone who attempted to guess his motives beforehand and treating him like an adult.

"Boy," Karkaroff snarled, but Farnes held up a hand.

"Very good, Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. Obviously, the Minister was trying to get a rise out of him in order to plan her next move. Too bad he didn't feel like accommodating her. People who tried to manipulate him right from the start were easy to deal with, especially the ones that did it so boldly.

"Since you're so eager to get to the point, Minister, I'll let you know that I came here willingly and in exchange for refuge since my current guardian-" he glanced sideways at Karkaroff who remained motionless- "isn't able to give me the protection I need," explained Harry calmly, leaning forward a bit. His teacup was left untouched.

Farnes swiped a lock of blonde hair away from her face.

"Talking about stating the obvious," she murmured, and Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise. She was treating Karkaroff like he wasn't even in the room.

"It's gotten a bit troublesome," Harry admitted, shrugging.

Apparently this was the breaking point for the man as well, but before he could spit out an insult, another Auror came into the room and swiftly grabbed the Headmaster to lead him out.

"If you can't calm down, it's best if you wait outside," she offered dismissively.

"I'm his guard-" he hissed.

"You're his nothing, Igor. Legally, you're not his magical guardian or parent. You're his headmaster and all dealings you have with Mr. Potter should be school-related. The fact that you took him away from Britain adds to your lack of credibility and that's why we will have a talk again once my business with your student is over," she added and with that Karkaroff was led away, sputtering indignantly all the way out.

"He gets all grumpy these days," she mumbled, before turning her attention back to Harry again. He couldn't quite decide if being alone with her was a good situation or not.

"So you're seeking asylum, because you're being threatened in Britain and you have no guardians left to protect you, correct?" asked Farnes.

"I suppose."

The Minister nodded, before taking out a file from the pile of documents that were stacked on her desk.

"And that threat includes a newly resurrected Dark Lord and the pressure of the public you're facing at home plus the fact that you ran away from your Muggle caretakers," she stated rather than asking and Harry was surprised that she apparently had no trouble believing Voldemort was back, unlike some other people. There were no credible news of the Dark Lord's return, despite the attack in Germany. Everything went back to a rumor mill on the street and Dumbledore's public and very vocal insistence, but Ms. Farnes seemed untroubled by it. Even more interesting, she never asked about his home life at the Dursleys.

"Those are good enough reasons for me to grant you asylum legally, but you'd be a ward of the Ministry from now and it would be incredibly difficult to keep that information out of the public. You're bound to be discovered at some point, Mr. Potter. And I hope you're aware of that."

She opened the file and quickly signed a document.

"How long?" Harry asked and she caught on, raising her head to meet his gaze. But thankfully, no attempts at reading his mind were made, as far as he could tell.

"Maybe a year, two at the most. Fortunately for you, there's a way you can escape early notice if you change citizenship. But it's a rather long-winded process and there will be a time when the English will find out. That's not something any of us can prevent."

Harry sighed, rubbing his forehead, before slumping down in his chair. Normally, he wouldn't show that sort of weakness in front of someone he just met, but this time it was simply unavoidable. Things would spin out of control, no matter how much he tried to hold the reins.

"Well, that's better than what I have now," he admitted and the Minister nodded, showing rare sympathy.

"Of course, there's the trouble that comes with granting your wish, considering the political circumstances," she added, and Harry knew they'd be playing with open cards now.

"I know, but to be honest-" Harry paused, lips forming a thin line, before continuing, "your country is infested with Death Eaters or sympathizers for the cause, so it's not a problem that can be dealt with by staying neutral. And Durmstrang isn't just Karkaroff's responsibility. The fact that he's useful to you might've caused some problems anyway, what with him being a traitor and all that," Harry informed.

It seems he hit the nail on the head. As soon as the words left his mouth, the Minister straightened her back and regarded him more seriously.

"You're quite right," she admitted, showing her own moment of vulnerability. "But the issue with Igor's protection is less complicated than yours. Depending on the outcome, we're prepared to face whatever the Dark Lord throws at us."

Harry frowned.

"I didn't say Norway would stay out of the war forever. That's simply impossible for us, Mr. Potter. It doesn't make much of a difference if you're here or not, because the Dark Lord won't stop at Britain once he gains more power. He will be _everywhere_. Just like Grindelwald was," she clarified, smiling bitterly.

"But we'll discuss this at a later stage. She handed him all the papers necessary for refuge without hesitation. The young wizard took a quick look, but then shrinked the file and stored it away safely.

Harry pressed the pad of his thumb against his bottom lip, thinking deeply about something that bothered him. This was going way too easily.

"What do you want in exchange for my safety and your secrecy?" he demanded. She grinned in return, her open expression showing approval for Harry's attitude.

"Nothing much. To be honest, you became my responsibility the moment you appeared on Norway's soil and that's a problem I never intended to run away from." Harry snorted, unable to hide his disbelief, but the Minister wasn't concerned. "Needless to say, Karkaroff's actions became a minor inconvenience but also an opportunity for me to make bargains with the European Wizarding Union that I otherwise wouldn't be able to make. I hope you can understand that."

Harry's fists curled in displeasure.

"I'm a tool for you to gain more power."

"Don't act so surprised. You knew that, Mr. Potter. I don't believe you're naive enough to assume that your own dealings don't affect the other party by ways of association. But I'm giving you the curtesy of honesty and that's more than you would get from the likes of the English. And to be frank, most people would still see you as nothing more than an _11 years old boy looking for guidance_," said Farnes.

True. Harry knew that and whatever the woman intended for him in exchange most likely involved some act of political loyalty on his part. Having the Savior's blessings, no matter his age, was good PR, after all. That's why London was in such an uproar over his disappearance. Not because they cared about him as a person.

It still rattled him, though. To be surrounded by people who never had his wellbeing in mind. Harry sighed internally. He supposed that's what it was like having no family and friends to rely on. It hurt, no matter how much he pretended it didn't.

His gaze hardened in resolve.

"Well?" he asked airly. Farnes chuckled in delight and leaned forward as well, meeting his eyes head on.

"Don't worry. It's not a life sentence on your part or anything that requires your total submission. I'm simply asking you to get more involved in my part of work, Mr. Potter."

Harry paused, thinking over her words.

"Yeah, I got that. Headmaster Karkaroff assumed it'd be easier for me once I become a legal citizen, but I doubt my father's name would work in your high court of law or any other department. The Potters are still English," he explained, licking his lips.

The Minster nodded in understanding. "The extend of your involvement with our party depends on what the Potters have done in the past. It'd be best if you get your way around your financial situation and your obligations as an heir and successor to your ancient line, before I fully introduce you to my circle."

Harry gazed cooly at the clock in the back of the room. Despite his feelings on the matter, he wanted to get more influence on his own and if that required some more underhanded dealings and politics, he was prepared to follow through.

He desperately needed more time.

"Once you start this kind of work, you'll be able to get your own power base and influence regardless of your status as a hero. I think it's a sensible request and works for both us, since it's in my best interest to have an ally who can stand on his own feet during the war." With that she stood and with a wave of her wand the teacups disappeared.

"I've asked a representative of Gringotts to meet up with you, but it isn't safe for you to meet up with them outside the Ministry. So Blordak was kind enough to come here. You'll be meeting him shortly," said the witch and Harry nodded, leaning back in his chair. He'd finally get access to his own money.

"I'll be seeing you later, Mr. Potter. As of now, I think I need to speak with your stubborn Headmaster. You can wait here," she said and made her way over to the door, giving him a small smile before turning around.

"Thank you," Harry said, closing his eyes.

"No need to thank me. Besides-" she paused, her hand on the door handle. "Lily Potter would be very proud to see you now. So _grown up_," she added and Harry jolted upwards, surprised. But before he could say anything, the door closed and he was left alone.

* * *

Goblins were exhausting.

Harry signed the last piece of parchment, before handing it back to Blordak who in turn gave him the key to his trust vault and several other keys that granted him access to his properties.

Apparently, he was filthy rich and James Potter had investments left that Harry could take over if he wanted to.

Most of the stuff was headache-inducing. And he still didn't quite have the grip on the jargon and fancy words that coated all the official documents, so he'd need to train himself in order to be able to avoid blackmail and the kind of deals that left you bankrupt in the end.

Interestingly enough, James had campaigned for the rights of several dark creatures, most prominently werewolves and giants. Despite his meager business attempts and youthful inexperience, he managed to establish important contacts and even traded with people who were looked down upon by Light wizards. This was surprising to Harry, but it didn't mean he necessarily condemned his father for it. The opposite, in fact.

He knew next to nothing about his family and this kind of insight made him feel to closer to the man in some strange way. He smiled bitterly, after reading the accounts of his father's plight on behalf of one Remus Lupin. Harry sensed the deep respect and friendship James Potter felt for his friend in the letters and diary entries his father had left behind.

Moreover, it was fascinating to get his mother's side of the story as well. Lily singlehandedly managed to raise her own status by selling potions to dark creatures in need and inventing charms for healing purposes, for instance spells designed to mend fragile bones after painful transformations and fights with other werewolves. Her published journals weren't popular at all in the wizarding community, but she'd gained respect from several werewolf clans and packs all over Europe for her dedicated work; a feat that not many witches or wizards could claim, considering how much they despised dark creatures in general.

Nobody had ever written about this in the official books about the Potters and from what Harry knew his family was mostly remembered for their "dedication against the Dark Lord" and brave resistance in the face of danger.

So much propaganda on both sides of the war...

Harry felt nauseous. How deeply immoral and wrong this society acted by twisting facts and acting like everything was so black and white.

Harry's turbulent emotions left him in a state of unease that somehow seemed to affect the goblin who was staring at him as if waiting for a magical explosion.

"That will be all, Mr. Potter. It was a pleasure doing business with you," Blordak said warily and Harry said his goodbyes, his mind elsewhere.

After he was left alone, Harry tried to calm down, readjusting his breathing pattern like Eileen has taught him.

He had several opportunities and ways to go, but besides planning to get this blasted prophecy and training for war, he would also have to manage his account without drawing too much attention to the fact that he was even in Norway.

That would be an almost impossible thing to do, because he couldn't just go around and tell everybody he demanded a secrecy vow before dealing with them. Harry still wondered how Farnes wanted to go about this without putting up a sign that basically said "Harry Potter is with us, welcome and enjoy your stay".

He was so absorbed in his thoughts, he almost dismissed the alarm going off inside the building.

An amplified voice he recognized as Farnes', was saying something in Norwegian that sounded like a warning. Harry quickly drew his wand and made his way over to the door.

Voices could be heard outside and someone said something like "terrorist" in English, which was all the warning Harry needed to understand that something was deeply wrong. The footsteps bypassed his room.

Merlin, he couldn't go a day without attracting trouble.

Tiptoeing around the entrance he quickly cast a charm to silence his own steps.

"_Liberictum_" Harry chanted and his wand sang in his hand approvingly. The spell partially disillusioned him, but unlike the other charm, he wouldn't simply blend in with his surroundings like a chameleon; he would dematerialize himself for a short period of time. It was a dark version and easier to learn, but also an imperfect spell, because he could be revealed if he moved too quickly.

Opening the door swiftly, he then used Point-Me to find Karkaroff and swore mentally when the spell came up with nothing.

Just great. The headmaster was either dead or left the premises without Harry. Just bloody perfect.

Another group of Aurors came his way and Harry quickly pressed himself up against a tapestry hanging on the wall. All of them were ready for battle, wands drawn and rushing to get to the center of whatever was going on. With sharp reflexes, Harry turned the other way, trying to remember the layout and the entrance hall from where they had come. He needed to find the Minister or preferably a fireplace that he could use to get back to Durmstrang.

An explosion reverberated through the dimly-lit corridors, the sound quickly followed by more shouting and spells that triggered the wards of the building. People were dueling fiercely.

He turned to the right, mindful of the body he had to step over, as he recognized the vacant face of the Auror who had first led them to the meeting room earlier. He hadn't been very lucky. It was a sickening sight.

But it either meant the "terrorists" had bypassed him already or he was heading straight for the epicenter of the fight. In that case, Harry couldn't afford to waste more time.

And then he came upon something he wished he hadn't seen at all. He's reached the entrance hall and the numerous fireplaces that were his only gateway to freedom.

Not anymore.

All access was blocked off and there were numerous people struggling to apparate away.

The nondescript, hooded figures attacking these people resembled Death Eaters, yet not and Harry stood motionless, wand pointed at the nearest source of trouble.

Ingenious.

The Dark Lord had publicly decided to attack the heart of the country without declaring it a Death Eater attack. He was playing on Fudge's assumption that this was a ragtag group of criminals just wanting to cause mayhem all over Europe.

And yet, the man was _after something_. But what?

Harry froze. It really couldn't be. Someone must have fed him sensitive information about Harry's location without violating Karkaroff's vow. Or hell, maybe Karkaroff did it himself. But that didn't make any sense.

He didn't have much time to linger and try to solve this, though. Harry quickly deflected a blood-boiling curse that was aimed at the Death Eater fighting closest to them instead. He focused on the matter at hand, assessing the situation with calculating, cold eyes.

The Aurors weren't hesitant to use their enemies' weapons against them, which was surprising but also quite clever. Another Death Eater must've seen the odd sight of something invisible intercepting the spell, because he hoisted himself upward from his position and headed straight for Harry.

Good.

Harry marked the spot beneath his feet with a spell that wasn't visible to the naked eye, murmuring the incantation quickly. Then he ran, twisting and dodging the fights and marking several spots repeatedly, before reaching the entrance to the Ministry. He could technically try to force his way through the wards, but he didn't have much time for that either and he couldn't apparate yet. His lips formed the word to trigger his spell over and over again, which paralyzed both Death Eaters and Aurors whenever they came in contact with the place he'd marked. His wand pushed him, compelled him to do _more_.

"Someone is invisible! Watch out!" a Death Eater shouted and Harry snorted, adjusting his stance slightly.

How disappointing.

Harry grimaced at the lack of efficiency these people exhibited. No wonder, the Dark Lord never managed to conquer Fudge's power domain, if those idiots were all Voldemort had at his disposal.

More shouts were heard and confusion halted some of the more intense battles, which was just plain stupid. Harry pointed his wand at another group of people, and black smoke quickly began to obscure their sight. His action must've been seen by another person again, because he saw a Death Eater making his way forward steadily, ignoring the smoke and fighting, eyes fixed on him despite not seeing anything.

Perfect!

Harry smiled and before the Death Eater managed to reach him, Harry twisted around, casting another spell to hide their location while the bubble began to trap both him and the Death Eater inside. No one would be able to see the blurring image, but people would definitely start attacking the spot.

His own invisibility was now draining away, but it didn't matter anymore. He'd made his choice.

With another last move, he grabbed the man's mask, so unlike the usual Death Eater attire, and ripped it off, revealing the handsome face of a prominent pure-blood aristocrat he'd seen in the newspapers.

Lucius Malfoy was staring right back at him, his platinum blond hair in disarray as he took in the sight of Harry James Potter becoming visible again.

"Hello, there," Harry greeted lightly, gripping the man's forearm where he knew the mark was located. His scar reacted to it.

He had the option to bring the man along with him to Durmstrang, but that wasn't a good choice considering Karkaroff's whereabouts and his actions today.

Option 2 it was.

"You-? Potter?" Malfoy exclaimed, his shock distracting him for a moment and that was exactly what Harry counted on.

"_Imperio._"

Grey eyes became glassy and unfocused and Harry quickly acted before the bubble could dissolve.

'Take us to Potter Manor, Wiltshire,' the boy commanded, focusing on the mental image and exact location that had been described in the documents.

And with another jerky move Lucius grabbed him tightly and they both disappeared from the Ministry hall, leaving confused Death Eaters and Aurors behind.

Harry secretly hoped that the Minister somehow made it out.

* * *

Unfortunately, his decision caused more problems than he initially thought.

He was currently standing in front of a beautiful manor with a notorious and unresponsive Death Eater at his side and two adoring house-elves waiting for him, welcoming the Potter heir back home.

Merry fucking Christmas, indeed.


	10. Tit for Tat

DISCLAIMER: The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

Note: Thanks for fav/following and reviewing. Enjoy the next installment.

* * *

**Chapter: 10 Tit for Tat**

The Manor was in perfect condition and the pristine lawn indicated that someone probably took great care of it. It was situated on a hill, as far as Harry could tell. However, the dark, grey stone walls were barren of any moss that usually decorated the old buildings of several wealthy pure-blood families in England. An ornate fountain in the center of the front lawn rounded up the look. As Harry made his way to the entrance hall, followed by a silent and imperioed Death Eater, he couldn't help but notice that this could've been _his home _all along. And the Dursleys would most definitely kill for that kind of wealth.

A warm, but foreign feeling suddenly overtook his senses and one of the house-elves nodded in satisfaction.

"The wards have recognized Master Potter's return. Master will now be able to adjust them if you like," the tiny creature said blithely.

Harry focused on the invasive magic that was now settling down somewhere in his subconsciousness. He'd have to take a closer look at the wards and how much protection this manor truly provided.

When the odd group entered the building, Harry started to look around carefully, noticing the wooden panels along the corridors, the huge chandelier illuminating this place, and the somewhat homey atmosphere that clung to the manor.

The house-elves turned to him expectantly and introduced themselves quickly. The 'taller' of the two with the floppy ears named Libby bowed lowly, giving Harry another adoring look. The other one was called Alby and Harry didn't know what to make of the look on the creature's face.

"Would you like a tour of the manor, Master Harry Potter?" Alby inquired and Harry grimaced.

"Just Harry is fine," he waved off, ignoring the scandalized looks from the elves. "Could I perhaps postpone that for later? I'm kind of starving-" he added, rubbing his stomach awkwardly. The Ministry excitement had gotten to him and now most of the adrenaline and anticipation was quickly wearing off, leaving him drained.

Come to think of it, the Imperius curse wouldn't hold forever, which is why he needed to do something about his "guest".

"Could you perhaps make certain that my prisoner doesn't run away? Just to make sure that he's stripped off anything that could be used as a weapon," he asked, concentrating on the tiny thread that linked him to Malfoy's mind. Yep. He was about to lose control of the man's mind.

Alby's eyes widened, but both of them understood quickly and with a small plop Lucius Malfoy disappeared, leaving Harry and Libby behind.

"If you could follow me Mast-, Harry," the house-elf added and Harry nodded.

The stairs led into a gallery of sorts and the most impressive furniture was the long polished wooden table, which could be set out for dozens of people.

Harry was unceremoniously led to the head of the table and before long he had a feast spread out in front of him that could easily sustain twelve Dudleys.

He sighed, grabbing a plate of mashed potatoes. This Christmas break was already proving to be much different from anything he'd experienced before. Whether it was good or bad, he couldn't tell. Not yet anyway.

* * *

"I can't," he grumbled, stretching his legs out.

"What do you mean you can't, boy? Eat the damn meatballs," the portrait of an elderly man groused. Several other portraits seemed to agree, murmuring quietly and observing Harry as if he somehow personally offended them. And why the hell were his ancestors commenting on his eating habits? He'd have to get rid of them soon. And honestly, he wasn't looking starved or anything. He felt much better than a couple of months ago when his magic and mind have been going haywire with stress.

"Eat them yourself, if you want." He stood and quickly shuffled out of the room, cutting off any protests coming from his annoying ancestors.

No wonder James didn't want to live here.

Anyway, he had more important things to do, mainly his dealings with a certain blond prisoner.

Harry went downstairs with the house-elves' help. He could imagine that this manor possessed the basic equipments of any magical houses for rich people. Maybe even torture chambers or a well-equipped potions lab. He'd have to see it for himself.

In fact, he needed a potion for what he planned to do, since it wouldn't be easy to properly interrogate a Death Eater like Malfoy without some additional help.

Harry's eyes hardened as soon as he reached the door to Malfoy's temporary 'residence'.

It was time to properly interrogate the man.

He stepped inside the cold and dreary cell, which didn't really look like one since there were no bars or anything that resembled a loo or bed in there. No basic furniture or windows decorated the room. Instead a single chair occupied by a certain blonde was placed right in the center. There was no magical barrier or anything preventing Lucius Malfoy from moving, but Harry inspected the bindings that were wrapped around the man's ankles, wrists and his upper torso.

At first, people would maybe think the Malfoy patriarch was looking like a grand king who was simply making himself comfortable on his throne, but Harry eyed the tense posture of the man -subtle as it was- , saw the balled hands and the tiny layer of perspiration on the man's forehead. Light blond hair cascaded down the man's shoulders and Harry was admittedly a bit fascinated by it. This man looked the type who bathed in luxury and liked to show it off. On Karkaroff it seemed fake, but Malfoy carried it surprisingly well.

Lucius was blindfolded and Harry quickly stepped forward in order to pull the material off. His fingertips grazed warm and smooth skin and he leaned forward slightly.

Hot breath fanned against his cheek and Lucius slowly lifted his head, meeting his gaze with grey eyes that showed a glimmer of cold calculation.

They assessed each other for a moment, before Harry stepped away, mindful of the man's every expression.

"So-" said a calm and low voice, "the Boy-Who-Lived has graced me with his presence."

Harry cocked his head to the side and quickly lifted his hand to adjust his glasses. He decided to remain silent.

Lucius in turn seemed just as attentive as he was, looking at him from head to toe and most likely analyzing Harry's body language to determine any weakness he could use as a way out. Harry privately thought people like him were a bit too obvious with the way they wanted to gain an advantage in situations like these. It was easy to act on it.

Harry smiled and shrugged in response.

It worked.

Malfoy snorted, obviously finding Harry's cheeky attitude not very threatening. The man relaxed a bit.

"So like your father, but I'm not surprised. Tell me, Potter. How is it that the icon of the Light is so well-versed in one of the Unforgivables?" asked the pure-blood, getting straight to the point for once.

"Hm, I'm sure you know all about that already, Mr. Malfoy," said Harry lightly. Lucius caught on, but hedged a bit.

"I'm not quite certain what you're implying." The tone was deceptively pleasant, but Harry wasn't here to play games.

"Really? Then your deductive skills are obviously rusty and I'm asking myself why your Master, a man rumored to be a genius, bothers to deal with the likes of you," Harry said, insulting him while at the same time making his doubts about Malfoy's motives known to the other.

For a moment it looked like the man would react in anger, but then he settled down, chuckling quietly to himself.

"So Durmstrang is corrupting you already," he voiced, licking his lips. "If only Dumbledore could see it. And the wizarding world...they will be less than pleased once they find out you practice the Dark Arts, Potter."

"But _you are_, pleased that is. Not to mention your Lord-," said Harry, stroking his chin absently. "I wonder how much he truly knows about me..."

The effect was instantaneous. Harry could've laughed out loud.

"Much as you believe you're the center of the universe, you're not." Lucius tested out the bindings on his wrists.

"Good, so it wasn't me that was targeted. But thanks for confirming it," Harry said calmly, putting his hands in his pockets and stepping forward again.

Too easy.

Lucius snapped his mouth shut, looking grim at once, but his eyes shone, something weird entering his gaze that Harry tried and failed to understand.

"Karkaroff," Harry started. "It was him you guys were after. Because there's no way you could've known I would be at the Ministry today unless it was him who told you," he added. "Which I don't think he did."

His suspicions turned out right upon seeing the man's closed-off expression, but Lucius didn't say anything more, which is why Harry decided that the real session should start now. With a snap of his fingers, Alby appeared, carrying a vial with a clear, water-like substance.

Harry technically could've cast another Imperius, but it was too draining to hold it for more than a couple of minutes and he didn't think he could quite resist his wand's call for more blood yet. Not after today. On top of that, he wasn't powerful or experienced enough to use other new curses to manipulate the man's will, although Professor Moline had done his best to teach the students a variety of gruesome spells in the last couple of months, including two of the Unforgivables. Legilimency was the last option, but it something he'd have to learn in the distant future.

Veritaserum it is, then.

The blonde recognized the substance instantly and his eyes widened in surprise and alarm; maybe because Harry would resort to do something like that. In any case, it was too late.

Alby helped stopping the man's struggle and Harry forced three drops down, making the wizard swallow. There was something oddly freeing about abandoning his morals for once to get what he wanted.

Grey eyes turned unfocused and Harry started with a couple of test questions after dismissing Alby. All of them worked to his satisfaction and the potion did its job, despite being out-dated.

"Good. Now tell me, Mr. Malfoy. How did you find out about me studying at Durmstrang?" he asked, crossing his arms.

There was no visible sign of distress and the man answered robotically.

"It was merely a suspicion on our part. Igor Karkaroff tightened security around the school to an unreasonable degree and roughly at the same time when your disappearance became known to us. We weren't quite sure, though."

Harry didn't know whether that was actually good news or not. The Death Eaters apparently acted on a hunch. But perhaps it wasn't so surprising, considering all the business with the prophecy and their master's paranoia to eliminate any problems.

"Why is Karkaroff your target. Is it because of his betrayal?" he asked promptly.

Again, no visible reaction.

"Karkaroff aims to acquire certain items he has been searching for in a while. These items could assist in defeating our cause and today's mission was to obtain them by using his connection to Norway's Minister and capturing him at the same time," said Malfoy and Harry stared in disbelief.

"What?"

"Karkaroff aims to-" Lucius began but Harry quickly stopped him, holding up a hand, his mind whirling with thoughts on the newest piece of information.

The old fool was looking for something? Something that was connected to Norway's Minister and that he wanted to get? But then why did he take him along?

Why did he use the excuse that Harry wasn't safe anymore and needed the Ministry's help?

Unless...

"Why did Karkaroff take me along to obtain the items, whatever that is?" Malfoy seemed to hesitate answering this one, although he was still out of it.

"I-am not sure. We didn't know you would be with him today-" he explained.

"Take a guess then," Harry snapped impatiently and Lucius bowed his head slightly, blond hair partially hiding his expression.

"I believe the Minister is in a key position to hand over the weapons, but in order to do so she must have wanted something in return from him. Something that he had and could give up eventually for the sake of getting something even more powerful. Perhaps...they made a deal, which means you'd be-"

"The _decoy_..." Harry murmured, numb to everything.

He could've applauded the old man for that performance. Truly.

All that crap about making him more powerful and using him as a tool to defeat the Dark Lord and then going on and on about making Harry financially and politically independent for his sake. Bloody hell. The headmaster must've thought he was the perfect trade-off right from the start.

For what though? And why did the Minister think Harry was more worth than the stuff Karkaroff wanted?

"What are those items or weapons that you want?" he asked promptly. At this Lucius seemed to struggle visibly, biting his lips hard, but the potion seemed to do its work regardless of the wizard's iron will.

"A collection of extremely powerful wands created a long time ago for the purpose to strengthen someone's magical core," the man said and then almost looked like he wanted to swallow his tongue and take the words back.

_Wands..._

Of course. Of fucking course. Harry could've slapped himself. It seemed Lucius was talking about Yassine's and Gregorovitch's shady work and Merlin knows who else was involved in that secrecy. And that was just priceless, because the Dark Lord's problems could be solved by killing two birds with one stone. Getting the traitor and undoing the wandmakers' work at once.

Fuck, Voldemort _was good_.

And he didn't even have to do much.

Harry had to readjust his thinking rather quickly from now on. The documents he'd received earlier weighted a ton in his pocket, now that he knew just how much Norway's minister was involved in whatever dealings against the Dark Lord went on. It looked like in some roundabout way all these people he'd met shared some kind of connection, but still acted independently. Gregorovitch's distrust of Karkaroff was proof of that, no matter how friendly they acted around each other. And Harry was stuck in between, getting pushed around.

But he still had a chance to do it on his own. The prophecy. That was something he wouldn't lose sight of, no matter how almighty the wand he obtained really was. In the end, information was all that mattered to him and not the tools he got from others who only had their own agenda in mind. Harry stepped closer and leaned forward, his hands landing on the armrests of Lucius' chair.

"Change of topic, Mr. Malfoy." Harry smiled, watching the glazed eyes of the older wizard in amusement. "Tell me, did one of the Death Eaters kill the Muggles I met after leaving my relatives?"

He didn't have to wait long for an answer.

"Yes," the patriarch confirmed.

"And did you find my relatives?" he insisted. A shake of the head made Harry sigh in relief.

"No, Albus Dumbledore is currently protecting your Muggle relatives, making it impossible for us to capture them," Lucius said monotonously.

Harry nodded, thinking it was better for Hogwarts' Headmaster to deal with them. He couldn't stomach the thought of Death Eaters or even the Dark Lord ruffling inside their minds and finding out any weaknesses from Harry's past that they could use against him. And while he didn't know much about Dumbledore, the old man was probably not the type to exploit the information in the same way a person like Karkaroff would've done. Besides, Harry was determined to get to the top and any dirt on his childhood wouldn't really prevent him from getting there anyway. Better safe than sorry, though.

"Okay. So what of the Dark Lord? When and how did he get resurrected?"

This time the effect was powerful. Lucius started to shake, gripping the armrest tightly. More sweat broke out on his skin and Harry retreated, frowning.

"The Dark Lord-" he started again, hesitating a bit. "how did he get resurrected. And when?"

"I-. My L-" Lucius stuttered and his shaking intensified, shudders racing through his body.

Okay, this was not normal. Resisting the potion was possible if one knew Occlumency well enough, but this was most definitely not normal.

"I-" Lucius started, shaking his head furiously and then he moaned, looking like he was in agony.

"Neville Longbottom. Did the Dark Lord kill Longbottom to get resurrected?" Harry tried, but suddenly Lucius let out a scream and Harry paled. He could sense the dark, oppressive magic in the air now and something was definitely interfering with the potion, something that the wizard wasn't doing by himself.

Harry eyed the man, quickly trying to find the source of the invasive magic and his green eyes narrowed in thought. He quickly grabbed the man's arm, making sure that the bindings would hold and then he pulled at the wizard's sleeve.

Just as he thought.

The ugly tattoo that marked every Death Eater was inflamed and pitch black, dark veins spreading out under Malfoy's skin as if attacking his nervous system. Merlin, Voldemort must've used some sort of enforced secrecy vow with that mark, making sure that even his enemies couldn't get any information out of the Death Eaters. Which made sense, but it also meant a possible death sentence for them if they were captured. Harry had no idea how to counteract the complex magic, though. So there was no other option.

"Alby," Harry called and the house-elf popped in silently. "Could you get the antidote for me," he requested, holding the man's arms in place. Lucius's condition worsened by the second.

"Yes, Master Harry," the elf replied and quickly disappeared and reappeared, holding another vial that he handed over. Alby had trouble holding Lucius in place, but together they managed to force the man to drink it.

As predicted, the symptoms disappeared gradually and Harry thanked the elf who disappeared again, leaving him with an exhausted Death Eater behind. Said Death Eater who was regaining focus slowly.

"There, there. Mr. Malfoy. That wasn't so bad, was it?" Harry patted the man's head in a patronizing gesture, taking his time to examine the texture of the man's hair.

Lucius raised his head again and bored his eyes into Harry. He wasn't angry, though, which was a surprise.

"It seems I underestimated you, Potter," he admitted quietly.

"Only because I wanted you to," Harry replied, drawing back. The silence between them was a comfortable one, despite the man's weakened condition.

"And yet, you just admitted to yourself that you've been nothing but a pawn until now. But somehow it doesn't seem to bother you, unless this is just another act," the dark wizard murmured in a faint voice, examining him as if he were an interesting and exotic lab rat.

"You're catching on. And bothering me?" Harry chuckled bitterly, honest with himself for once in front of the blonde. His hands carded through unruly, black hair nervously. "Of course it _bothers_ me. I've already known why I was attending Durmstrang in the first place, but it doesn't mean I was happy with the situation. Besides, I should've seen that one coming," he explained, shifting forward.

"Indeed. Which brings us to something else," the wizard mentioned, unmoved. "You seem to know surprisingly much, and yet you're not running to Dumbledore, as most people would think. Instead you're surrounded by dark wizards and witches, Potter."

"You're talking about morality," Harry deadpanned.

"I'm talking about the way you immerse yourself in something that has nothing to do with you. You're not a dark wizard," the man stated the obvious, making Harry curious to see where this was going.

"Or you shouldn't be. There wasn't a single Potter who belonged to us or was interested in dark magic. And yet, here you are. Doing the opposite and fraternizing with people that are on the hit list of many politicians in Fudge's Ministry. I'm wondering..." Lucius trailed off, stretching his tired muscles as much as he could in his position.

"Now you're being stupid again," Harry shot back, lips curling upward in humor.

"Excuse me?"

The boy watched the Death Eater closely, enjoying the baffled expression that somehow changed the man's hard and masculine features to something more pleasant.

"You're assuming that someone's choices are dictated by his bloodline or the family he comes from," he said, "or that I'm a Potter, which means I must do x and avoid y , because my father and grandfather did the same. Well, let me tell you something." Harry leaned forward again. Lucius tensed at the proximity.

"I do," he whispered, "whatever I want."

The Death Eater closed his eyes, turning his head away.

Harry chuckled and then quickly crossed the room and reached for the door, leaving the poor, confused man to his thoughts.

Independence. That would be hard concept to swallow for a pure-blood hardliner like him.

* * *

The next morning came and went without much trouble. Harry for once enjoyed the luxury of having his own master bedroom and the privacy he now had in spades. Yesterday, he managed to get some of the more important books and clothes, including a certain journal out of his dorm at Durmstrang with Mindy's help. Now he had no reason to return until the end of Winter break, which suited him just fine.

The house-elf also informed him that Julian Moline, Wilkes and several other professors were back and that Karkaroff was now officially missing, which meant Julian would take over as headmaster. Admittedly, it was nerve-wrecking to think that someone was out there who knew more than he should and had been using him to such an extend. And on top of that, he had a suspicious Dark Arts professor in control of what happens to the school. If Moline wanted, he could just as well dissolve the secrecy vows and make it public right away that Harry was studying there. Which would be inconvenient.

Harry read the headlines of today's Daily Prophet, ignoring the sleepy mumblings of the portraits. He bit his lower lip, searching for clues, but all the paper reported was the terrorist attack on the Ministry with causalities on the Aurors' side. Apparently, Harry's tricks hadn't worked in the end, and all Death Eaters had managed to escape.

According to the news, Fudge didn't seem to care much, but Minister Farnes had been sighted at the parliament building. It was good to know that Harry would be able to contact her in the end, despite her business with Igor.

No items were stolen and the departments were busy cleaning up the mess the Death Eaters have left behind.

The best thing however was that no word on Harry's involvement leaked through.

'I wonder what the old bastard is planning now' he thought, turning the page. As frustrating as it was to think about the deal, he didn't think Karkaroff had been successful in getting what he wanted. At least, Harry hoped so.

Another smaller article revealed that some sort of object called 'The Philosopher's Stone' has been destroyed by Nicolas Flamel with the help of Albus Dumbledore.

Harry tried to recall what the stone was, but he couldn't remember much.

"Hey, does anyone of you know what the Philosopher's Stone is?" Harry asked, looking around. His eyes settled on the portrait of a witch that looked like she somehow escaped from the Renaissance period. She smiled pleasantly at him, nodding in affirmation.

"Yes, Harry. It's created with the help of alchemy. And I quote '_The ancient study of alchemy is concerned with making the Philosopher's Stone, a legendary substance with astonishing powers. The Stone will transform any metal into pure gold. It also produces the Elixir of Life, which will make the drinker immortal,'" _she concluded, frowning slightly.

"The Elixir of Life... Huh. That's probably something that could've been useful to the Dark Lord," Harry said to no one. Several people hissed sharply.

"Don't be so blasé about it, boy. Even attempting to use the Elixir of Life is absolutely immortal. Not to mention all the other hideous ways in which you can attain immortality," a young man right next to the portrait of the Renaissance witch warned, waving his arms.

"But didn't Flamel and his wife frequently drink from it to extend their lifespan? I was still alive when that ignominious fool made the papers with his invention," another unknown ancestor said coldly.

Harry re-read the line.

"They've been alive for over six centuries. And both of them decided to die, apparently." That must have been really strange, he thought. The official word was that it was too dangerous to keep the stone intact, but Harry couldn't quite wrap his mind around that reasoning. Voldemort was already back and he didn't need the stone, if he had ways to ensure that he couldn't be killed. So why now?

Libby appeared suddenly, holding another tray and Harry nodded, letting her know that it was alright to feed their prisoner. Lucius behaved like a high-maintenance prince, but Harry wasn't inclined to starve him. Some humility would be a good lesson, though.

Suddenly a strange sensation warned him that someone was quickly approaching the manor's wards, seeking entrance. It wasn't a human, though, but an owl and Harry decided to find out who would want to write him now.

A common barn owl brought a letter and Harry quickly opened the window to let her in, a bit confused when she left as soon as the message was delivered.

He drew his wand and cast a series of charms to locate any nasty curses or spells that would activate as soon as he touched the thing.

His eyes widened in surprise.

"Why would Krum write me now?"

The message was rather short and to the point, only saying that this letter couldn't be traced to Harry and warning him at the same time to stay where he was now. News must have reached the older student.

Harry didn't plan on leaving anyway, but it was a bit surprising to know that people would willingly want to write him. But Krum didn't expect a message in return, which is why Harry left it at that. He'd talk to the Bulgarian at some other point.

'But I do need an owl, I guess," Harry thought. The manor was equipped with an Owlery, but since there hasn't been a single Potter living in this manor since 1800 something, the elves didn't have the means to keep track of any pets inside the house.

He'd have to order one, especially because he couldn't go outside and visit Diagon Alley. It was simply too much of a risk in England.

Harry left the dining room and returned to the semi-dungeon after having made sure that Lucius's wand was safely stored away. The pretentious wizard's been carrying that thing inside his cane...

He approached the man who was dressed in the same robes as yesterday and was still bound tightly to the chair. If Harry concentrated, he could make out the smell of sweat and blood. Body odor. Just perfect.

"Ugh, this is disgusting." Harry bit out, keeping his distance.

"It seems we can agree on something, Potter," Lucius snarled, obviously fed up with his treatment, to Harry's amusement.

He shrugged. "Oh, don't blame me, old man. What did you expect. A back massage? Five-Course Dinner?"

"I should give you a course in keeping prisoners," the blonde said, shifting in his seat.

"Pretty sure you've learned a few tricks from your master," Harry shot back, smiling a bit. "How does the Almighty Lord of all Darkness treat his guests? Do they get regular meals?"

"No, they'd be dead," the man sniped.

"Charming."

Harry sighed, rubbing his cheek, before throwing up his hands in defeat. "Fine, we'll be spending Christmas together. might as well make the best of it," Harry said and Lucius looked like the reminder of the holidays personally offended him.

"Okay, Saturnalia it is. I don't care for mistletoes and all that stuff anyway," he added and then asked for his house-elves. It would be difficult to let the man move on his own, but a quick order to incapacitate him by any means necessary -if he tried to escape- settled that down.

Eventually, he'd let Lucius go at some point, after erasing his memories of course. But for now they would enjoy some eggnog.

Before that, the man needed a bath, though. It was urgent.

'I feel like a parent,' Harry thought, sighing heavily.

* * *

New Year's Eve marked the birthday of one Tom Marvolo Riddle. Not that Harry knew about that or Voldemort's real name, but his scar seemed to hurt on that day more than usual. He was rubbing the spot above his eyebrow repeatedly and even Lucius remarked on his strange behavior. He'd had days in the past, when the mark bothered him incessantly, but usually it was accompanied by a foreign feeling of anger and impatience. Tonight there was a heaviness inside him that didn't really belong there.

As for his guest...

The blond wizard had endured more than enough humiliation on his own, with the way he was constantly shadowed by Harry's loyal house-elves, but they were currently seated in the living room, only a small coffee table separating them. It was enjoyable for once. The silence between them didn't bother the Potter heir much, because in the last couple of days he managed to glean a couple of things from the man. Things that Lucius most likely didn't want him to know.

His not so steadfast loyalty to Voldemort, for example.

Oh, Lucius was good, certainly. He often talked about the glorious ways of the Dark and how a new era was approaching soon and would free them all. But behind the hollow words, Harry often detected a sense of bitterness that shouldn't be there.

There was no doubt Malfoy was loyal to his kind and detested Muggles more than anything. He spouted pure-blood propaganda on a daily basis and remained stoic and aloof at most times, like any true Slytherin.

But it was all a façade, a mask that Malfoy carried well, but never quite managed to make his own.

Moreover, he stared. And more than was necessary. Grey eyes followed him absolutely everywhere, analyzing, planning and correcting first impressions. It unsettled the younger wizard, but he didn't bring it up.

The fireplace gave off a gentle warmth and Harry drew back his legs, resting his chin on his knees. It was Lucius who broke first.

"Karkaroff hasn't been found yet," he informed and Harry let the words settle in. Of course the Death Eaters didn't manage yet. In any case, both of them would've felt some sort of reaction coming from their respective marks, if such a thing happened.

"Professor Moline will take care of everything, I'm sure," Harry said, referring to the change at Durmstrang without making it obvious. After all, students weren't allowed to talk about the school other than the most basic things.

However, the reaction coming from Malfoy was instantaneous.

"Julian Moline?" he asked, gaping. And that was a very unusual expression on the wizard's face. Harry turned to him, not quite comprehending the look.

He nodded slightly, but the blonde shook his head fiercely.

"That's impossible, Potter. And how do you know about him anyway?" he asked quickly, putting down his glass of wine.

"Does it matter?" Harry said eyebrows rising in surprise. The other man looked angry for a second.

"Of course it does. Because you couldn't have met the man-" Harry frowned, holding up a hand. "And why's that?"

Malfoy's lips thinned and there was a strange expression on his face when his grey eyes met Harry's.

"The man is dead. Had been for more than 20 years now. And I was the only witness," Lucius replied, watching Harry's face.

Harry stared, silent.

If that was true, then _who_ was that person currently masquerading as a dead man?


	11. Non Compos Mentis

DISCLAIMER: The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.

Note: Thanks for the feedback as usual. Bonus points to Christina for pointing out my obvious obsession with Ren Kaidou. Characters with broody personalities tend to work for me.

Anyway, on to the story. Let me know what you think.

_**Trigger Warning: Suicide reference**_

* * *

**Chapter 11: Non Compos Mentis**

He stood by the fireplace, watching the crackling flames as they consumed the log hungrily. It must have been more than a couple of years since the last time anybody has used it. On the mantel stood a miniature version of a lion, a moving, bronze figurine that paced back and forth, as if protecting his cub from invisible enemies. Occasionally, the figure would let out a threatening, but silent roar.

The warmth inside the room was pleasant, but he was too distracted to take much comfort in it. Instead, Harry was constantly mindful of the other occupant in the room.

"Well, why don't you elaborate?" he asked finally, his back still turned to the man. Hence, he didn't see the way grey eyes narrowed sharply nor the obvious distaste that briefly crossed the man's expression.

"I don't quite see why I should, Potter," said the Death Eater. His grey eyes watched as Harry's shoulders stiffened, taking delight in such a weakness.

Harry turned sharply and crossed his arms.

"You have some nerve. I'll give you that. But you're not in the position to make any bargains with me, Malfoy," he stated, holding the man's gaze.

"Really? And here I thought we were getting so much _closer_," Lucius mocked, picking up his glass again.

The man's nonchalance was irritating and his behavior spoke of someone who didn't feel intimidated at all. 'It's probably my own fault, though,' Harry thought. He shouldn't have given the blond wizard so much leeway during his stay here. And yet, he didn't think he'd get more useful information out of him if he dosed him with Veritaserum for the rest of his stay. Besides, the stash of useful potions at the Potter manor was limited, according to the house-elves.

Harry drew his wand.

Malfoy eyed the movement, but a lipless smile was the only reaction the black-haired boy got in return.

"Again, I must commend you for your excellent use of the Imperius. Though, I didn't think your Dark Arts teacher would go as far as to teach first year brats how to use them. It's an uncommon procedure."

Harry snorted. "You'd know more about that. Since it looks like you're quite familiar with Julian," he said, only implying what he couldn't say out loud.

The Malfoy patriarch put down his glass again and his expression turned serious.

"Before we continue with your assumptions and implications, I require something in return for the information you seek," said the wizard in a tone that brooked no argument.

Harry pointed his wand at the man's forehead instead.

"No deal, Mr. Malfoy."

But before he could cast another Imperio, he was suddenly without his wand in a move that he couldn't have possibly prevented. Malfoy had swiftly raised his hand and with a simple Expelliarmus Harry's wand was out of his grip.

Fuck, the man knew how to use _wandless magic_.

Harry stepped back instinctively, ready to call his house-elves, but Lucius simply leaned back in his seat again, a small smirk revealing the only evidence of his actions.

"You didn't really think you could possibly hold me in here like a common Muggle prisoner?" he goaded, tracing his fingers over the wand that started to vibrate in the man's hand. Lucius broke Harry's stare to inspect the handle in wonder.

Harry showed no outward emotion, but deep down he knew he fucked up. And badly.

He should've taken the possibility of wandless magic into account, since it was a rare ability but one that wasn't completely out of the equation. Certain adult wizards were perfectly capable to master it, if they so desired. And Voldemort probably urged his most talented Death Eaters to study as many rare types of magic as they could.

Both of his house-elves must've sensed their master's trouble, for they immediately appeared, ready to take action. Harry shook his head silently and dismissed them again, all the while ignoring the older man's sneer.

"Relax, I won't do anything to you," the man promised and Harry's eyebrows rose.

"Then tell my, why didn't you simply break out sooner?" he asked instead, playing for time.

"Idle curiosity... maybe?"

Harry sighed. That wasn't good enough, but he'd have to follow along for now.

"Sit down and let's have a proper talk, Potter," the man added.

The tension was palpable.

In a way Harry should've felt threatened. But once again his need to know what was going on overpowered his instincts that told him it'd be better to let the matter go.

"What do you want in return, then?" he asked simply, looking out for any signs of an attack.

It seemed Lucius also wanted to get down to business, because he pocketed Harry's wand in order to focus on him instead.

"Very simple," the man began. "Should we ever find ourselves on opposite sides of the war, which is very likely, regardless of your dubious education-" he paused, letting it sink in.

Harry frowned in thought.

"I require your oath that you won't harm my wife and my son, should you ever encounter them on the battlefield as your opponents," he concluded, grey eyes boring into the younger wizard as if that was all he needed to get Harry to acquiesce.

"Your family... Narcissa and Draco?" he asked, recalling the names he'd read about.

"Indeed," the Death Eater said.

Harry rubbed his forehead. He was a bit confused with that request, mainly because the man didn't include himself in the list, although he could've asked for that as well. What was he playing at?

As if reading his thoughts, Malfoy smiled in return.

"I don't necessarily see the point to get immunity from you. Besides, my lord would find it suspicious if you left me out of your pitiful attacks, don't you think?"

"Spare me your patronizing remarks," Harry said sharply, not in the mood for this.

Apparently, neither was Lucius. "Do you agree or not?"

Well, to be honest, he didn't. It seemed too much in exchange just to get some information on Julian. By comparison, he'd have to stay still and potentially get himself killed if the man's wife or son ever decided to attack him. Lucius hadn't specified that Harry could defend himself in this case. But he didn't think the man would let him. Harry raised his head and gripped the edge of his armrests tightly.

"I agree if you swear not to give out anything about me to anyone. You won't imply that you even met me at the Ministry or that you've been to my house. Nothing," he demanded. It was imperative that Lucius shut his trap about this. It was a safety measure he needed to take, but the price was high.

"Very well," the man replied, surprising Harry. The man waved his hand in apparent dismissal of the issue, looking bored.

"I didn't plan on revealing any secrets about you, Potter." he voiced.

"Not even to your precious lord?" Harry asked in disbelief.

Lucius's grey eyes hardened but he nodded in confirmation, once again surprising the Potter heir.

Conversely, that was just the opening Harry needed, because now he knew one thing about Malfoy that he could mercilessly use against him in the future.

Malfoy's weak spot was his _family_. In fact, it was such a glaring spot that showed just how disloyal the patriarch would be in case his family was threatened. Harry wasn't certain if Voldemort knew about that, but this piece of information could prove useful in the future.

Just because Harry wasn't allowed to attack these two people, didn't mean there weren't other methods to use against the Death Eater.

Harry's face betrayed nothing, but his thoughts were whirling with new outcomes.

"You do know that you're potentially committing treason right now?" he asked, just to make sure. In turn, Malfoy rolled his eyes in a gesture that looked so out of place on the man's features, it almost made Harry laugh.

"Let that be my problem, Potter. Again, do we have a deal?" he asked and Harry nodded in return, albeit reluctantly.

For the oath, Malfoy unfortunately needed his wand back, which is why Harry called Libby to pick up the man's infamous cane. Thankfully, it wouldn't be an Unbreakable Vow, so Harry couldn't die if he accidentally harmed the man's family in battle.

Surprisingly, Malfoy handed back Harry's wand without much fuss, although his eyes lingered on the object longer than necessary, which in turn made Harry feel uncomfortable. Did the pure-blood wizard know about the wand?

As soon as the object was back in his possession, Harry felt reconnected with it. On top of that, the thing didn't start to act weirdly again just because he'd been disarmed, which was a relief.

They both took their time to formulate their oath to make sure that no loopholes were there, and then they spoke at the same time, letting the magic settle between them. The air sizzled with tightly controlled energy and Harry observed the way Malfoy's eyes glazed over for a moment.

Harry couldn't really tell whether this decision was a good one or just a reckless move to safe himself.

But time would eventually tell.

When the oath was spoken, Malfoy bowed his head and for a moment Harry recalled that despite the man's antagonizing remarks, Lucius acknowledged him as a genuine threat to his family.

"Now that this is settled, I shall explain everything you need to know about Julian, since you're implying he's currently teaching at Durmstrang," the man said, taking a seat again and crossing his legs.

Harry took his seat as well and called for a bottle of expensive wine, playing along for now.

"I can't be certain how much you know about his past, but I'm aware you're under Durmstrang's oath; meaning you can't tell outsiders about the school's curriculum or the staff," Lucius said, before taking another sip. Harry suddenly remembered a crucial fact about Malfoy.

"You're on the Hogwarts Board of Governors," he threw in. Malfoy didn't seem to appreciate the interruption, though.

"Correct. I'm also the chairman. And our policies are similar to Durmstrang's in terms of location secrecy and wards, although the current headmaster isn't as strict about certain matters as he should be," the man said, sneering a bit. Harry recalled that unlike Durmstrang, Hogwarts accepted Muggleborns and didn't keep the school's teaching methods a secret. From the man's expression, Harry could see why Malfoy didn't agree with Dumbledore.

"Let me also inform you that even at Durmstrang the policy to teach First Years about the Unforgivables is highly unusual, because such magic can potentially destabilize a child's magical progress if performed too early. It isn't common knowledge, though," Malfoy concluded and Harry stared in alarm.

Destabilize?

Lucius caught Harry's expression and frowned in thought.

"You seem quite lucky in that respect." The man looked him over shrewdly. "Tell me, Potter. Did you feel any side-effects? Fatigue? Or perhaps nausea?"

Harry hadn't felt any of that, but he also didn't think it would be wise to tell the Death Eater that his wand was eagerly aiding him in performing the darkest magic possible. But it was true that he didn't manage to cast the Avada Kedavra successfully yet, and he didn't feel enraged enough to practice the Cruciatus on animals. It was a problem Moline had frequently criticized him for.

He shook his head in response.

"Hm. In any case, this isn't a standardized procedure, which means that the impostor you're dealing with deliberately chooses to endanger a child's magical development. Or perhaps this person is willingly preparing to train children to fight for a war, feeding lies to make them stronger, but quite obviously weakening them in the process." Malfoy absently stroked his chin, thinking deeply about the man's possible identity.

"Why are you so sure he's an impostor?" Harry asked.

"I told you Julian is already dead," Lucius replied, curling his fingers around the glass.

"Well, the guy could've staged his death for all we know," Harry added, but Malfoy persisted nonetheless.

"I was there when he died. There was no identity theft involved. I checked, because I was tasked to kill him," he snarled.

"Tasked to kill...?" Harry trailed off.

"Precisely. Julian Moline was excellent at potions. In fact, he was so good that my lord personally took it upon himself to recruit the man. However, Moline proved to be all around mediocre in the Dark Arts and he had no desire to fight against Muggles. Muggle lover and blood traitor, that's what Julian was," he said.

Harry thought about all the things Eileen revealed about Moline and it did seem to fit with the impression he'd gotten from her.

"But there's one thing the Dark Lord overlooked." Lucius paused, letting out a breathless laugh that sounded almost self-deprecating. "And it was Moline's deep-rooted hatred for my lord. In fact, Moline took his revenge on the Dark Lord after he found out that my lord was responsible for killing his entire family after Julian voiced his refusal to join."

Harry stared, quite shocked that Eileen hadn't know about that.

"What did he do?" he asked quickly, leaning forward in anticipation.

"It was a quite ingenious move, actually," Lucius murmured, lost in thought for a second. "Julian botched up an invention of the Dark Lord. One that was vital to strengthen a wizard's physical prowess by means of acquiring werewolf-like characteristics without turning into one," he said.

"That's possible?" Harry asked, not quite able to hide his surprise. The blond wizard's mouth tightened in response.

"Not anymore. Over 20 years of research lost in a single act of revenge. Moline somehow stole every relevant document and destroyed the samples just as easily," he said. "Even worse, he informed the British werewolf pack of my lord's experiments on one of their own. Needless to say, there was no hope left to see any werewolves that would fight for the Dark after that. With the exception of one, which I suppose is better. Those mindless beasts are quite worthless, to be honest," he finished.

Harry wisely kept his mouth shut, but inside he felt his anger rising. Not necessarily at Lucius and his bigoted ways, but the Dark Lord for being such a monster. Experimenting on living beings and expecting them to fight for the man anyway? No wonder, Voldemort lost so spectacularly against Dumbledore's group before he became obsessed with killing him. The fool wouldn't amass popularity if he expected to exploit every single creature and wizard for his own personal gains. Truly, the man was a pathetic excuse of a lord.

Once again, Harry wondered whether Voldemort wasn't just fighting this war for his own personal, anti-Muggle reasons. This story certainly reaffirmed his beliefs. It didn't look like Voldemort cared all that much about Dark magic or any magic outside of what it could do for him in terms of power. The pure-blood sovereignty was just a hoax.

Harry observed Lucius closely. It was definitely a possibility that a man like Lucius could come to the same conclusion, since he seemed to value the Dark side not only for magical power, but also for spiritual reasons. The blonde must've harbored treacherous thoughts for some time now.

"You said you were tasked to kill him..." Harry started.

"Good observation, Potter. I didn't manage. Before I could end his life, Julian did the job for me. He killed himself right in front of my eyes. And no, Potter. He wasn't an impostor. I made sure."

Harry frowned.

"Did the Dark Lord demand evidence?" he asked, tapping his fingers against the armrest. Lucius nodded.

"He did. I delivered the body."

Silence met his statement and it took several minutes for either of them to come to terms with that conversation.

"So whoever is currently posing as Moline is some sort of fraud who had known him before his demise," Harry mused, disturbed. However, Lucius caught on.

"Polyjuice is out of the question, considering the man's elaborate disguise. He'd need fresh supplies from the man himself, and Moline would need to be alive for that to work," the patriarch concluded.

For a breathless moment Harry's thoughts turned to Voldemort and he wondered whether the man found a way to disguise himself, since it was him who last set his eyes on the body.

Lucius smirked in return, accurately interpreting Harry's shock.

"Don't worry, Potter. My lord wouldn't waste his time disguising himself in order to infiltrate your school. And he wouldn't teach some brats how they can destroy their own magical cores."

'Well, I wouldn't be so sure...' Harry thought, seriously questioning Voldemort's sanity and his twisted motives.

"Besides, Karkaroff would already be dead, if that happened," Lucius reasoned.

"I'm gonna find out at some point," Harry said in return, dismissing the comment. Sensing the end of that conversation Lucius picked up his cane and turned his back to Harry.

"It's been pleasant doing business with you, Mr. Potter. But I must be on my way. I'm sure you understand that," the Death Eater explained, straightening out his wrinkled, black robes.

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man, but didn't say anything in response to that.

"Ah, I forgot to mention. Your mudblood mother worked quite closely with Julian at some point," the blonde added. "It's unfortunate you can't ask her about that," he said, not sounding remorseful at all.

Harry smiled pleasantly in return.

"Remember our oath." With those last words Malfoy made his way over to the front door. However, Harry wasn't quite finished yet, nor would he allow the arrogant bastard to think that he held the upper hand just because he could do wandless magic.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Harry asked and the blond wizard turned around. Harry had taken the bottle of wine earlier and now he quickly used the opportunity to smash the thing against Lucius' head with as much force as he managed.

The startled wizard crumpled to the floor, falling unconscious.

Harry stared at the man's form dispassionately.

As usual, the old fashioned Muggle way was simply the best way to get things done.

"You should learn not to insult someone's mother," Harry said and snapped his fingers. Libby appeared in front of him and Harry quickly ordered her to apparate him away from here.

"Take him to Muggle London, I don't care. Just make sure, he doesn't die from that head injury," Harry asked and Libby nodded eagerly, obeying immediately.

The wine was quickly spreading on the richly decorated rug.

What a waste.

* * *

Returning to Durmstrang turned out to be less of a problem than he initially thought. Usually invisible carriages picked up the students from Oslo's main Muggle station. The main problem however was his journey from Wiltshire to Oslo, which was an experience Harry never wanted to repeat. House-elves weren't accustomed to inter-continental apparition.

Harry was also quite fed up with all the secrecy and need to disguise himself as much as possible, but he vowed to end this with the Ministry's help. Farnes hadn't bothered to contact him yet, though. All he could do was wait and hope she wasn't seriously injured.

"Hey, Potter. There you are," Danielle called, running over to him so that she could join him in the carriage. Harry smiled in return.

"Good to see you again."

Both of them unloaded their trunks and made themselves more comfortable. They were also joined by Krum who carried several trunks and two brooms with him.

"Congrats on joining the Bulgarian national team," Danielle said and Krum nodded, a bit bashful.

"I vas very lucky vith that," he added and Harry turned to him, honestly surprised, since Krum didn't tell him about that in the letter.

"You were picked by the national team?" he asked.

"Oh, seriously Potter. Do you live on the moon now?" Danielle joked. "It was all over the papers. Viktor Krum, the rising star and seeker of this generation. His fans have quadrupled in numbers."

"Yeah, sorry. Quidditch isn't really my priority," Harry said, scratching his head awkwardly. Viktor shot him a small smile, mostly because he knew how much Harry loved to fly, but never wanted to attract that kind of attention.

"I vill convince you to join a team, Harry. You vill never hear the end of it," Krum threatened lightly, clapping him on the shoulder.

Harry's new companion suddenly decided to make herself known, hooting loudly.

"Oh, is that your owl, Potter? So pretty." Danielle stared at Hedwig who seemed to bask under the attention. Harry chuckled lightly, gazing fondly at his new feathery friend.

"Her name's Hedwig and you shouldn't do that. Her ego will probably get bigger than Viktor's fanclub if you keep that up," he said, laughing when his Snowy owl hooted in offense, glaring fiercely at him.

"She has your attitude, Harry," Viktor said and the younger wizard was suddenly reminded of Hedwig's first appearance at Potter manor, when the owl decided to get in a fight with his house-elves after they have purchased her. It had been a bizarre sight.

Danielle chuckled, nodding in agreement, before turning to something more serious.

"So. Did you hear anything about Karkaroff? The old fart must've gotten in some serious trouble if leaving was his only option," she mused.

"Vho cares. Good riddance," Krum said in a gruff voice.

"I suppose it's for the best," Harry agreed, not really wanting to talk about the wizard's motives. Secretly, he hoped that Karkaroff would never bother to return. Besides, he often thought about his wand and wondered why Karkaroff never picked up on the fact that it was one of the objects he apparently desired all along. The old man certainly must've had his suspicions regarding the object and Gregorovitch's actions. Harry planned to interrogate the Minister about it as soon as possible, since she obviously knew more than she let on.

The ride to Durmstrang took several hours and for the rest of the time they entertained themselves with Exploding Snap and Danielle's endless stash of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.

Harry experienced the unpleasant taste of earwax and belly button lint, which earned him pitiful looks from his friends in return. Seriously, how did this Bertie Bott idiot come up with belly button lint?

The sky darkened visibly and the clap of thunder startled all of them and made Hedwig hoot in distress.

"What a crappy start to the term," the witch said, watching as they landed on Durmstrang's grounds while it began to pour quite heavily. Harry drew his wand to shrink his trunk and quickly cast the Impervius charm on himself, with Krum and Danielle both copying is actions.

They made a run for the entrance, followed by several other groups of students.

Harry wondered whether Voldemort's Death Eaters still bothered to check on the school with Karkaroff now on the run.

As they made their way over to the Great Hall, they were quickly joined by Filipp who nodded at them in greeting. Krum on the other hand left the group in order to join his classmates, getting enthusiastic greetings from them. Harry hadn't talked to him about the contents of his letter, but at this point he thought he didn't need to anymore.

As soon as everyone was gathered, Headmaster Moline greeted the students, following protocol and intruding Professor Wilkes as the Deputy. He didn't elaborate on Karkaroff's absence, but Harry watched the students closely, getting the idea that pretty much everyone was glad the man had left.

For the rest of the speech, Harry tuned him out, focusing on the small letter he'd gotten instead while everyone was busy with dinner and gossip. The message was simple and signed with Moline's initials, informing Harry once again that nothing would threaten him and that his stay at Durmstrang was still a secret.

The support didn't make him feel any better, though; especially now that he was hoping to discover the man's true identity instead of falling for his empty words.

He incinerated the parchment, getting weird looks from Filipp in return, before filling his plate with food.

He already missed Potter manor.

* * *

Classes started to get even more intense and before the students knew it, they were swamped with dozens of assignments and tests. Moreover, Harry picked up his self-studies again and joined Krum and the older students in some mock-dueling practice. As a result, his stamina and health improved significantly, although he still sometimes felt a dreaded sense of emptiness that threatened to overwhelm him in moments of weakness. The nightmares were replaced with odd thoughts and stuff that didn't make much sense.

He also watched Moline closely without making it too obvious; even asked Eileen to evaluate what she knew about him. At some stage, the ghost had to admit that Moline wasn't really himself, because he tended to be too self-assertive and knowledgable in ways that the real Julian had never achieved. She had also mourned her friend when that observation became fact.

"It's not Polyjuice," he stated again, pacing back and forth in his room.

"Obviously," Eileen drawled, making herself comfortable on Harry's bed as much as a ghost could.

"Well, there's glamours-"

"Wouldn't hold," she interrupted and Harry sighed in frustration.

"Then how about runes?"

"Possible, but highly complex and potentially life-threatening if applied too often," she explained drily, raising her arm to draw some invisible patterns in the air, lost in thought.

"Okay. Then there's only Metamorphmagus left," he concluded, staring at his collection of books.

"Pretty much."

Harry didn't know much about Metamorphmagi, but he was pretty sure that you couldn't possibly force one to reveal themselves if they didn't want to. Which meant the only option left was torture.

He could also decide to just let it go, but he'd rather deal with the problem now than getting some nasty surprises in the future.

"Torturing the man for that seems a bit over the top," he admitted after a while, taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. That statement made Eileen stare at him in return.

"Second thoughts already? Harry, don't think twice that your opponents would hold back. They'd do far worse things for even less," she stated, shaking her head. Harry glared heatedly.

"Well, what if he isn't my opponent?" he asked.

"What if he is?" she shot back, floating over.

Harry's shoulders slumped, the gravity of the situation not failing to get to him. He'd have to decide soon how to deal with that man and ignoring the problem wouldn't make it go away, especially since he was still in some way dependent on the school until graduation. Which was still six and a half years away from now.

"I'll deal with it," said the boy finally, which was enough to placate Eileen for now. It was quite obvious that she was a bit pushy about the issue, because someone had taken on the identity of a person she cared about quite deeply.

"I'm sure it'll work out. From what I heard you managed to hold your own quite well at the Ministry," she said, smirking at him. Harry took off his robe, placing the heavy cloak on the armchair.

"How did you know?" he asked.

He hadn't told anybody about the things that happened in Oslo.

"Don't worry, Harry. No one knows about your involvement. I was simply putting two and two together, although I'm sure the impostor must've come to the same conclusion," the Prince woman said, distress briefly crossing her shapeless expression.

"Brilliant. For all I know, the man could've been part of the gang," Harry mumbled, picking out his pajamas to change. Filipp would be back from his social gathering soon and he didn't feel like talking to the other boy.

"It's your task to find out," Eileen stated and then waved him goodbye before floating through the wall, leaving Harry to his troubled thoughts.

Harry changed and quickly got under the covers, remembering that he still needed to sign his acceptance letter for the Ministry, regardless of Farnes' lack of response. It was only thanks to her that he even had access to his vault and wouldn't have to deal with England and Dumbledore for now. He had a bargain to fulfill.

A plan formed in his mind, a solution how to deal with Moline that was taking visible shape. There was a way to expose the man while at the same time dealing with another issue he needed to solve.

The _prophecy_ that he would get soon. The same prophecy that fake Moline had brought to his attention.

Harry's smile sharpened. Yes, he couldn't wait to break into the Ministry.

That'd be fun.

Unfortunately, his adventurous fantasies came to an abrupt end when a pillow smacked him right in the face.

"Seriously, Potter. Don't do that. It's creepy," Filipp hissed, completely startling the smaller wizard who hadn't even heard the other boy come in.

"Do what?" he asked, putting the pillow away in annoyance.

Dolohov crossed his arms. "That weird smile. You look like my father used to when he got all blood-thirsty and planned Muggle genocide," he explained, shuddering slightly.

"Then we have something in common," Harry said dryly.

Filipp stared, before starting to laugh.

"Do tell. I can't wait to join your cause, my Lord," he mocked and this time it was his face that was decorated with a pillow.

"Go to sleep, idiot," Harry said, smiling in return.

Dolohov bowed, making him smile. He drew up the curtains with a wave of his wand.

Yes, Harry missed the freedom that Potter manor provided.

But being back here wasn't really so bad, to be honest.


End file.
